Revenge
by El-Maybonics
Summary: The random death of a Petty Officer sends the team in a race against time that could have disastrous ramifications. Meanwhile, Agent Blye and Detective Deeks embark on a game of one-upmanship that might just lead them to places they never expected. NOTE: This story has been updated to an M rating for the last chapter. Natually, a "Revenge-verse" tale.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N –** This story takes place post-Neighbourhood Watch, and pre-Sans Voir, cause I don't know how they're going to start season 4. Natch.  
**Rating –** T mainly, but some M probably later. I'll let you know. Mainly Densi stuff cause, ya know- - that stuffs gotta be hot, right?  
**Disclaimer –** NCIS: Los Angeles is a TV show (but then, you already knew that) that I do not own. The criminals are my own. Also, my first actual fan fic, done to work through my writer's block on my ongoing projects, so try not to burn me at the stake for witchcraft if good, or heresy if rubbish. Any mistakes are my own; I'm English, so any mistakes about the nuances of American life/terms etc etc are a symptom of that. Updates will probably be sporadic.

* * *

Melinda Cartwright pressed her palms against the glass, and stared at the shoes with longing. Heels, cute little red straps. They were to die for. But, she already knew, with a price tag that was way out of her bracket. She'd first seen them two weeks ago, as she randomly browsed down Hollywood Blvd in her lunch break, and knew that they'd have to be hers.

And so, she'd scrapped and saved, cut back on meals, and drinks, and flirted with even the most repulsive customers at the restaurant for extra tips. Soon, she'd have enough money. And it'd all be totally worth it, because she would look absolutely amazing in them. They'd tighten her calves, and make her legs look like a million bucks. There would be no way in hell Kevin would be able to ignore her in those. She already knew exactly what dress would go with them-

There was a screech of tires, followed by shouts from the other shoppers around her. A white transit van skidded to a halt on the kerb a few stores down from her, the bright Los Angeles sunlight glaring off the windscreen. The side doors opened, and four men jumped out. Each one was clad in black leather, and their faces were covered with ski masks.

Panic swept the people around her, doubled when the men started to fire wildly into the air with rifles, the noise barking loud and causing a scream to rip from Melinda's throat. She dove for the ground, not even caring that she scuffed her wrists against the warm concrete, just desperate to get her body out of the way.

The men continued to fire, creating an ever increasing circle around them as people fled the gun fire, and shouted words between themselves. Not English, that much she knew, and it didn't sound like any of the admittedly little Spanish she remembered from High School.

They moved now, rushing forward, and grabbing a fifth man, tall, with tanned skin and shaggy brown hair. He struggled against them, fought them, but one of their number drive the butt of his rifle into the man's gut, exploding all the air there. He slumped against the arms that pinned his limbs, and the four men bundled him into the back of the van. Even before the door was fully closed, the driver hit the gas, and it lurched backwards, reversing onto the street, before being slipped into drive and rapidly dwindled from sight.

Silence returned swiftly, such a shocking absence after the noise and terror of only seconds before. Her heart still beat, and she could feel her whole body begin to shiver as the adrenaline began to seep from her system. Melinda took one last shocked glance over her shoulder, ready to rise-

And screamed again. On the ground beside her was another man, his dead eyes locked, unseeing, with her own. A single bullet hole, haloed in blood, sat ridged in the middle of his forehead.

* * *

"_Are you trying to make me jealous?"_

"_No," she replied, her tone hushed, not even looking at him and choosing instead to continue her search. "I am just saying that they're trying to throw us off our game."_

"_You really think one of them is the handler?" Deeks sounded incredulous. _

_She looked over at him, to find her partner was engrossed in a stack of papers; bills no doubt. "Well, they are pushing the booze and asking us a whole lot of personal question."_

"_That is true, and every time we ask them something they do change the subject."_

"_Exactly," she said, with another quick glance at him. He gingerly pushed the drawer back into the wood cupboards, and then paused, eyes locked on her._

_She turned to him, disbelief on her face. "Why are you staring at me? We're supposed to be married; husbands don't stare at their wives."_

_His head tilted to one side. "I'm just trying to figure out where you hid your gun."_

_Her mouth gaped, before she shut it and turned back to the task at hand. Was this really the time for this? "Can you do it without staring?"_

"_You are carrying, right?"_

"_Of course I am," she snapped. Did the man not know her?_

"_Then where are you-?" he began. But she'd heard something. _Crap_, she thought. _They'recoming back_. They would be found, away from the dining table, rifling through their host's paperwork, looking for clues that they might be related to the Russian sleeper agents that NCIS had been hunting. She needed to do something, and do it fast. _I dropped an ear ring? We're just looking at some doohicky on your mantle piece? We're really undercover operatives and think you might be spies?

_Without a moment's hesitation, she was on him, cupping Deeks' face in her hands and pulling herself up to press her lips against his. She could tell, by the flickering of his lashes against her cheek, and the slackness of his lips, that she'd caught him off guard. Any second now, Brett and Polina would be coming through the door to catch them in the act._

_Any second now._

Now?

_But no one came. It was weird. _This isn't what happened_, some small part of her thought. Slowly, she became aware that the room seemed to have faded into fine smoke, vanishing from her consciousness. And she was aware that their mouths were still together. She let out a soft moan before she even realised the heat within her was rising. It took Deeks only a few seconds to recover from his shock, and then he was leaning in too, almost melting into her. His hands came up, brushing her hair back from her face and resting on the back of her neck. It felt like sparks were flashing across her skin at the contact. Slowly, ever so slowly, his hands began to trail down, along the curve of her neck. It tickled slightly as his fingers slid their way down her sides, across her ribs, to her hips and only added to the shiver that raced him down her spine. When he lifted the back of her shirt, his hands slipping inside and pressing against the small of her back, it felt like her skin would burst into flame._

_Then her hand was against his stomach, feeling the hard muscles there bunch and tense with sensation, and she smiled around his lips. The small opening of her lips was enough, and he dove forward onto her mouth, nibbling at her bottom lip. Her jaw slacked, and another moan escaped. At last, she opened her eyes; brown locking on blue. There was passion there, mingled with something else._

_As she slipped her fingers into the loops of his jeans and pulled him closer, she realised what it was; hunger. Need. Pure, unadulterated, desire. She knew, because she felt it too. It coursed through every fibre of her being, sending shockwaves across every inch of her buzzing skin. She wanted to devour him. To taste him. She closed her eyes, and allowed it to happen. Allowed her guard to drop, allowed her inhibitions to melt away, replaced only by the sensation that she could never get enough of her body against his, that there would always be microscopic gaps between them no matter how hard she forced herself against him._

_Her mouth opened further, tongue inching out, exploring, probing…_

Kensi Marie Blye catapulted awake with a gasp.

Around her, the tangled sheets were soaked with sweat that still clung to her frame and slicked her hair to her scalp. Her heart raced, seemingly threatening to burst from her chest in protest, and her breath came laboured. And there was a familiar, but completely unwanted (_and unjustified!_), warmth spreading between her thighs.

"Oh God, no," she said.

* * *

"It's called travelling, G," said Agent Sam Hanna, as he followed his partner from the gym back into the bullpen. Well, what they called the bullpen anyway. NCIS Office of Special Projects in Los Angeles didn't look like the typical office of a specially chosen and highly trained group of Federal Agents. In fact, it was probably the furthest thing from that; housed within an old Spanish Mission, it was a large, open plan space, bathed in the rich glow of the Los Angeles sunshine. From the outside, it appeared to be long abandoned due to quake damage. The number of people not directly employed who had seen the inside could be counted on one hand.

"You're just bitter that I beat you," replied Callen. Just _Callen.G_. What that G stood for, like a lot of his past (though less than had been two years previously) was a mystery. "Besides, you said it yourself; Street Rules. Ain't no travelling on the Street."

"Uh-huh?" said the former Navy SEAL, sitting down at his desk. "No rules, you say? So what was to stop me curb stomping you in the middle of the court?"

"The paperwork Hetty would make you fill out."

Sam smiled at the quip. "Besides, what do you know about the street?"

"Oh, I can do street," said Callen, affronted.

"G, you're about the furthest thing from street there is. Everything about you screams 'White Collar'."

"Yeah, well everything about you screams 'Mathlete'."

Sam turned serious. "I told you, I was a Junior Math Olympian."

"Po-ta-to, po-tato."

Callen threw a grin at his partner, to take the sting out of his words. The other man, however, was looking over Callen's shoulder. "Will you look at that?"

Callen glanced behind him, as Kensi shambled her way to her desk and slumped down in her chair, a large box of food before her. Without even a greeting, she began to shovel it into her mouth.

"Wow, Kens, you look like crap," said Callen.

She gave him the dirtiest look in her arsenal in return.

"You feelin' alright?" asked Sam.

"I'm fine," mumbled Kensi around a mouthful of food, returning her attention to the meal.

"That why you're eating your feelings again?"

"I just didn't sleep well, is all," she replied.

"Anything you wanna share?" said Callen.

"Nope," she said.

Callen turned to Sam, and as one their faces lit up. "Guessing game," they cried in unison.

"Okay," began Callen. "Let's see. I'm gonna put money on you, having a date last night. And since you're not smiling, I'm guessing it didn't go well? Did he tell you he was gay?"

"No," said Kensi, not looking up.

"But it didn't go well?"

"There was no date," she clarified.

"Okay, Sam, you're up," said Callen, moving around the desk and taking his seat opposite the still-empty desk of their liaison.

Sam tented his fingers before him, observing the woman for a few moments intently. The big man's focus was unnerving, but Kensi felt determined not to let it get to her. She ignored him. Eventually, he spoke; "You found out that there was a pseudo-sequel to Titanic, and this is the aftermath of watching it?"

"No," she said.

"I really thought that would be it," said Callen. "There were roadworks outside your apartment, working all night?"

"No."

"They were all out of your favourite donuts?" tried Sam.

"No," she sighed.

"Top Model got cancelled?" This from Callen.

Kensi didn't even bother to respond to that one.

"Okay, my turn," said Sam. "You dreamt you were kissing Deeks?"

"What?" she sputtered, before she could contain herself. "No-I- but-!" She snorted with laughter "That is just- the least likely thing- ever to happen!"

"Good save," came a voice from behind them. She craned her neck, and there he stood, framed in the California sun that streamed through the open windows; Detective Marty Deeks, LAPD's liaison to NCIS, with his unruly hair, light blond scruff of a beard, an easy grin that seemed to cover half of his handsome face, and a tight green striped Tee clinging to shoulders that- _What_? Where had that last thought come from, and more importantly, where was it heading? She tried to keep the treacherous butterflies in the pit of her gut still.

"You know, sometimes I forget what a good undercover operative you are," he continued, "and then stuff like that happens to remind me. Was it a good dream?"

"More like a nightmare, Deeks. Which subject heading, I might add, kissing you would most certainly fall under."

"That's just 'cause you haven't tried the real deal," he countered.

_I have_, she almost said, before clamping her jaw shut, realising he'd led her right to a confession she didn't want to acknowledge in front of the others. How did he do that, every time? They'd fight, argue and bicker, (_flirt?_), and he'd say the one thing guaranteed to make her react and come off wrong.

_I am too your type._ The phrase rose, unabashed, to the front of her mind. She stomped it down.

"I just had a rough night, is all," she said instead. "Didn't sleep well."

"I could help with that, if you want, you know, a little massage, deep tissue. That sort of thing. Totally tasteful of course. I'll let you bring your own towel. It'll really help work out the kinks in your, ya know…" He trailed off, cocking his head to one side and ogling her.

"Down, Deeks," she warned him. His returned grin was shot through with enjoyment.

"You know," said Sam, "I think today's the day she's actually going to kill him."

"I'm just surprised he lasted this long," replied Callen.

Kensi turned her glare on the two senior agents; to their credit, they both met it with the same amused smile. "Don't you guys have anything better to do?" she snapped.

As if in answer, a high pitched shrill of a whistle reverberated through the space. As one, the team glanced up the single flight of stairs, to where Eric Beale stood by the railing, his customary board shorts and glasses in place.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he intoned solemnly. "If you'd be so kind as to make your way into Ops-" He bowed, with a grand gesture with his arms to the room behind him.

"-crime is afoot," he finished.

"Saved by the bell, Kens," chuckled Callen.

"You ever notice how Eric says 'ladies' in plural?" said Sam to Callen, as the duo rose.

"That's because Deeks is here," came the reply.

"Hey, I resent that," called Deeks, voice layered with what Kensi knew to be faux-hurt.

"But do you deny it?" said Sam, through a smile.

The group headed upwards, Sam and Callen taking the stairs two at a time, Deeks following. Kensi hung back, trying to remove the flush from her cheeks. Her partner slowed, seeming to sense she wasn't right behind, and waited for her to catch up.

"So tell me more about this dream you didn't have about me," he said, his lopsided grin cracking his face and lighting up his features.

She sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N –** I am truly humbled by the reviews, follows and trackbacks the first chapter received. Truly.  
**Rating –** T, I guess? This chapter contains no M rated material.  
**Disclaimer –** I don't own NCIS Los Angeles. You can tell that by the fact I have not written myself onto the show, spending an episode just watching Kensi & Deeks interact, and going "Now kiiiiiisssss" the whole time. All foreign languages used in this chapter are via Google translate, so blame them.

* * *

Callen stood with his back to the main centre flat-bed console, watching as Deeks and Kensi filed in. It appeared that the Detective's mouth hadn't stopped moving. Wryly, Callen shook his head; he might love Kensi like a sister, but rather her than him.

"Can I just say you look amazing today, though?" Deeks was saying.

Kensi didn't even look back at him, but Callen couldn't help but notice the first half-smile of the day that crossed her lips. "No, you may not," she replied.

"So not even that's gonna get you talking, huh?" grinned Deeks.

"Ahem," came the rough and pointed voice of Henrietta 'Hetty' Lang. "Ms. Blye, Detective Deeks, so glad you could join us at last."

Kensi's mouth thinned into an apology towards the small woman who was their boss, and possibly the most deceptively dangerous person in the building. Maybe even the city. The partners took a spot standing on the other side of the console, Deeks leaning forward onto his elbows. Callen turned to the Ops team.

"What'ya got, Eric?"

The lanky tech wizard began tapping his stylus furiously on the pad in his hands; behind him, on the large plasma screen, an image sprang into life. CCTV footage, grey and grainy, of a light coloured van skidding to a halt in the middle of a busy street. Four black clad men rushed out, opening fire into the air, before grabbing another man and bundling him into the back of the van.

"This footage," said Eric, "was taken on Hollywood Blvd two days ago. A white transit van came out of nowhere, four men jumping out and apparently kidnapped another after firing into the air."

"Kidnapping?" said Sam, crossing his large arms over his chest. "Isn't that the FBI's jurisdiction?"

"It is, and they're working on the case."

"So what does this have to do with NCIS?"

"Because there was another victim," said Eric. A fresh image flashed into view; a military ID, of a young man with sombre brown eyes and a long face. Next to it, a second image appeared; this one of the same sailor, eyes staring at nothing, and a pinpoint bullet hole in the centre of his forehead.

"Meet Petty Officer Dominic Valdez," said Nell Jones, the petite red head taking up the briefing. "While the kidnappers were shooting, no doubt to scare people back from them, it appears the Petty Officer was hit with a stray round. He was killed instantly."

"So what did Valdez do?" asked Deeks. It was the strange thing about the man; he could be a pain in the neck one minute, and so focussed the next. He hadn't always been like that, of course. Maybe it was Kensi, finally rubbing off on the man. _He's certainly rubbing off on her_, thought Callen.

It was Eric who replied; "He worked at the Long Beach Naval Base, as a low level communications clerk. He was on leave, shopping with his girlfriend, when the incident took place."

Something about this still wasn't adding up to Callen. "So the FBI wants our help with this?" he asked. "It's not like them to want to play with others." He knew that from personal experience, which was one of the reasons he now preferred his job with NCIS.

"Not bloody likely," said Hetty. "In fact, they pretty much told us to keep our noses out of it. The Petty Officer, they claim, was just an innocent bystander; the real case is the kidnapping."

"They do have a point," said Kensi. "Plus, they've got a pretty big head start on us."

"And you're just the team to play catch-up," came an all too familiar voice from the doorway. Callen turned, knowing who to expect, and barely keeping the groan from spilling out.

"Ah, Assistant Director Granger," said Hetty. "I wondered when you would grace us with your presence again."

"I was in the area," came Granger's reply. He moved his gaze across every member of the team. "As soon as this report crossed my desk, I knew that NCIS needed to be a part of the investigation."

Something clicked in Callen's brain. "You're the one who wanted us on this case? What is it? Did you have Valdez under surveillance for something, just like you did with Kensi?"

Granger's face betrayed no response. _The man must have been one hell of a poker player, _Callen thought. "The things I do, Mr. Callen," said Granger, "are my own, and for my own reasons."

"Yeah, and we all know how well that worked out for you in the past," said Deeks, earning a brief and friendly smile from his partner.

Granger, instead, stared daggers at the detective. "Just investigate the death, Agent Callen," he growled. "And keep me in the loop about anything you might uncover. That's all." Without saying goodbye, he turned on his heel and exited Ops.

Callen turned to Hetty. "There's more going on here that he's letting us know," he said.

The woman nodded. "Just do your jobs," she said, "but be extra careful. Whatever the Assistant Director is up to, chances are it is significant."

Callen turned to his team. "Okay, Kensi, Deeks, why don't you –?"

He was cut off as Deeks leapt into the air with a yelp. Everyone in Ops stared at him, but he just locked eyes with Kensi, shock and surprise writ clear on his face. She, for her part, matched the other's look with annoyed confusion.

"Problem, Mr. Deeks?" asked Hetty.

Finally, it seemed to dawn on Deeks that there were others present, and he looked about him sheepishly. "No, no, not at all. There was – there was a spider – here, on the desk – but it's gone now. The, the spider, that is."

Sam laughed. "You need to man up, Deeks. You haven't seen a real spider until there's one as big as your head trying to climb into your sleeping bag with you."

"Hey, I'll have you know that some of the most dangerous spiders around are the smallest."

"Is that something a girlfriend told you, when she was telling you size doesn't matter?"

"No, it was on the Discovery Channel," complained Deeks, possibly intentionally missing the point.

Callen shook his head, grinning. "Kensi, why don't you go speak to Valdez's girlfriend, see if anything odd springs out. Take the baby with you. Sam and I'll check out the scene, see if there's anything LAPD or the FBI might have missed."

Kensi nodded, heading towards the door. Deeks followed her, rubbing his rump.

"In the meantime, Eric, I want you to dig into Valdez's history, see if you can find anything about why Granger's so interested in this guy. And look into the kidnapping too, see how far along the FBI have got."

"You got it," he replied, already turning to his computer.

"What are you thinking, Mr. Callen?" asked Hetty.

"Just a hunch," Callen replied, simply. "Just a hunch."

* * *

Sam pulled the black Charger up on the side of the road, and killed the engine. Hollywood Boulevard was certainly hopping now, as shoppers and tourists filled the streets, a thick thong of humanity moving backwards and forwards on the sidewalk.

"You know," said Callen, as he stepped out of the passenger side and glanced up and down the road, taking everything in, "I got moved about in foster homes a lot when I was younger."

"What's your point?" said Sam, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

"I'm just saying that's not very White Collar."

Sam grinned, shaking his head as he moved round the car to join his partner._ It's gonna be like this, is it?_ he thought.

Callen continued; "Some would say that it's more Street than anything else."

"You're looking at it all wrong, G. Being Street isn't so much about the life you've had, it's more a personal philosophy. An aura, if you want."

"I don't get it," replied Callen, starting to walk down the street, through the thick rows of pedestrians.

"I'm just saying, you look more at home in a suit than you do in a wife beater and baggy jeans."

"I've had to wear those before."

"Yeah, and you stuck out like a sore thumb. No offense."

"Plenty taken," replied Callen.

"It's like – " He paused, trying to articulate his thoughts. "It's like Deeks. You know where he grew up, what sort of childhood he had, the neighbourhood he comes from, but to look at him he looks like a typical privileged surf kid. There's nothing Street about the way he looks."

Callen nodded, understanding. Then a thought crossed his mind. "But I am more Street than him, right?"

"G," replied Sam, "Hetty's more Street than Deeks."

Callen grinned. "Hetty's more Street than anyone. Hold up." He paused, looking around them. "We're here."

'Here' was definitely the right place. On the kerb were the long black marks of tire skid. Several nearby stores had still boarded up front windows, some with hand painted signs that assured passers-by that they were, indeed, open. Brickwork on some of the buildings bore the unmistakable damage of bullet holes. Shreds of yellow police tape littered the ground, pushed into corners and gutters.

"LAPD sure put this place back together quickly," said Sam. "I doubt we're going to get much."

"Let's try in here," said Callen, gesturing with his chin towards a newsagents.

The bell on the door jingled as Callen led the way inside. Soft music, heavy on the sitar, piped over speakers, and the store was bathed in fluorescent yellow lighting. A wizened Asian man stood behind the counter, finishing serving a small boy a packet of bubblegum, while the child's mother watched on. The customers left, and the two agents approached the counter.

"Federal Agents," said Callen, flashing his badge at the man, as Sam did the same. "We'd like to ask you some questions about the kidnapping that happened out front a few days ago."

The man sighed at them. "I already told the LAPD and the FBI everything I know, which isn't much."

"Then it won't take you long to tell us," said Callen.

"Look," said the man. "I was in the store, when I heard shooting. At first, I thought someone was trying to rob me, but then I realised it was coming from outside. Then, I heard people shouting instructions."

"Instructions?" asked Sam. "Not the crowd, trying to get away?"

"No, most definitely instructions. I didn't understand the words, but the tone was clearly a command."

"Not English?" asked Callen, and the man shook his head. "Anything stand out that you might remember?"

"Only one thing that one of them kept saying; 'lat-rappi' or something like that."

Callen rolled the words around in his brain. "_l'attrapper_?" he asked.

"Yes," said the man, nodding his head.

"French," said Callen, to Sam. "They were saying to grab the guy."

"French," sighed Sam. "Why's it always the French?"

Callen spoke again to the old man; "You have any security tapes from that day?"

But the man shook his head. "No, the FBI already took them."

Callen sighed. Of course they would have. "Okay, thanks for your help."

"So, what are you thinking?" asked Sam as they stepped back out onto the street.

"I'm thinking I'm still not sure what any of this has to do with us." He flipped open his cell, and dialled. When it was answered, he switched it to speaker and said, "Eric, you had any luck tracking the van used?"

"_Not so far_," came the tinny reply. _"The licence came back as a rental, but the name and address of the rentee was a fake. So far, it's not showing up on Kaleidoscope."_

"Keep looking. What about seeing the FBI's case files?"

"_Hetty's on the phone now, trying to get a look."_

"Not looking good for you so far, Eric," said Sam. "That's two strikes. You get anywhere with our kidnap victim?"

"_We have got a hit on that, at least,"_ answered Nell. _"Facial Rec brought up an LAPD file. His name's Robert Smith, small time criminal with a sheet of armed assault and drug violations. Just paroled a week ago."_

"Doesn't sound like the kind of guy that would get kidnapped in broad daylight."

"Nell," said Callen, "have you got an address for Smith?"

"_We've got one, not sure how current it is. Sending it to your phones now,"_ she replied.

Callen ended the call. "Let's go check it out," he said to his partner.

* * *

"I'm sorry, I just – it all happened so fast. I really can't remember anything helpful. And God knows, I've tried."

"How long were you and Dominic dating?" asked Deeks, leaning forward from his perch on the dark tan sofa, and towards the cute blonde opposite him. His voice was loaded with compassion and understanding. Audrey Michaels dabbed a tissue under her eyes, soaking up the tears that had come, unbidden, almost instantly after he and Kensi had introduced themselves.

"About six months," she replied. "I work at a bar near the base, so we get a lot of servicemen in and out. They're always flirtatious, it's part and parcel of the job, but with Dom – there were just sparks, ya know? From the very first second. Just something about his soul that I could see and feel."

Deeks twitched an uncomfortable eye towards his partner, sat next to him. _Yeah, I know that feeling_, he thought. Aloud, he said; "Did he ever speak to you about the work he was doing?"

"Not really," she replied. "I mean, he told me what he did, but he never spoke about his day. He wasn't the kind of guy who needed to talk all the time."

"That must have been nice," said Kensi, a little too pointedly for Deeks' liking. Still, he couldn't stop the smirk that crossed his lips. "What about his family?"

"No," she replied, and Deeks could sense she was becoming more and more concerned. By the questions, sure, but also by her own answers. "I mean, I know his folks live in Chicago, but ever since he was transferred here, I don't think he's been to see them."

"Six months is a long time in a relationship to not introduce someone you love to your parents," said Kensi. Audrey broke eye contact, glancing over at a set of cupboards pushed against the wall of the two-bedroom apartment's living room. Atop it was a framed photo, no doubt of happier times; a smiling Valdez, in his uniform, with an arm around Audrey. _They both looked so happy_, thought Deeks.

"That was the day we met," she said, as if reading his mind. "I was at work, as usual. It was the middle of the day, so wasn't very busy, only about four guys in one corner. And Dom came in, sat right down at the bar and we just hit it off. When he asked the guys if they'd take a picture of us, I just couldn't believe he'd be so forthright. It was – exciting? We barely spent a day apart after that, aside from the weeks his work took him abroad."

"Abroad?" said Kensi. "I thought he was a desk jockey?"

Audrey shook her head, confusion knotting her brows. "No, no, he was part of some Navy think tank, working on the issues in the Middle East."

Deeks shared a meaningful look with his partner. Then they finished their questions, not getting a lot of further information, and said goodbye to the woman.

"So, what was that about?" asked Deeks as he hopped down the small flight of steps that ran from the front door to the street.

"Wouldn't be the first guy to lie about what he did for a living to impress a girl," said Kensi. "I bet you've done it enough times in your life. I'm just concerned that he didn't share a lot about his past with her; something about it's just throwing up red flags for me."

"Me too. But I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about you pinching my ass in Ops."

She stopped dead in the street, staring blankly at him. "I don't know what you're talking about," she replied eventually, before starting to head towards the car again. Even if he didn't already know, he could have heard the lie in her tone a mile off.

"Oh, right, it's gonna be like that is it?" he called after her. "You're just gonna brush it off?"

"You're imagining things, Deeks," she said over her shoulder as he scurried to catch her up.

"I'm not imagining things; I could barely sit down in the ride over here you squeezed it so hard. I might have even felt cuppage. Those car seats are not the most comfortable thing in the world, by the way. Maybe you'll need to install some extra foam if you're going to make a habit of it."

"Callen's right; you are a baby," she said.

"Hey, all I know is, your hand was on my buttocks, and you've been in a better mood ever since. That's the wonderful healing powers of my body."

"Just keep telling yourself that, Deeks." But there was no denying the playful smile on her lips. And he knew he was right about what had happened. "Callen's right," she said, the smile fading from her lips, clearly trying to get the conversation back on track. "Something about this whole thing just isn't adding up."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N –** All the reviews have been wonderful. They inspire me, and make me work more on this, and ignore all my other projects. So this is all on you, you wonderful people.  
**Disclaimer ** – I own Callen, Hanna, Byle and Deeks. They're a Mariachi Band in my super popular _The Amazing Mariachi Band_. The characters from NCIS Los Angeles, however, I do not own.  
**Disclaimer #2 –** I don't believe anything called _The Amazing Mariachi Band_ actually exists.  
**Disclaimer #3 –** Though that'd probably be pretty awesome if it did.  
**Disclaimer #4 –** Dibs.

* * *

"Got it, Kensi," said Callen into the cellphone. "You two go speak to Valdez's CO, see if you can find out anything more."

He disconnected the call, and turned to Sam, filling the other man in on what Kensi and Deeks had learnt from Valdez's girlfriend.

Sam shook his head. "I'm not liking this one, G," he admitted. "This guy's whole life is falling apart already."

"Not to mention the fact that Granger's got his big nose involved."

"It is big," grinned Sam. The grin faded. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that our esteemed Assistant Director has a more vested interest in Valdez, and knows more about what's going on, than he's letting us know. And I know that I don't like it."

Sam nodded, before starting to head towards the squat, white, wood-façade building at the address in Reseda that Nell had sent them to. Sam hopped up onto the front porch, pulling open the wire mesh cover and rapping thick knuckles against the door.

There was no immediate answer. Callen threw Sam a meaningful look, before peering through one of the windows and passed the curtains that hung there. The inside was almost Spartan, with low-budget furniture filling the living room, and a couple of beer bottles on a short wooden coffee table.

"Doesn't look like anyone's home," said Sam, as he subtly tried the handle. Locked.

"You wanna do the honours, or should I?" asked Callen.

His partner turned to face him, eyebrows furrowed. "Rock, Paper, Scissors?"

"Sure," said Callen. "Or I could just – " He moved forward, aiming a boot at the door and kicking through it, sending it flying open.

"Hey," shouted a voice, from the street. "What do you think you're -?"

The voice trailed off as Sam and Callen turned; there, on the sidewalk, an armful of grocery bags, was the same tall man with unruly brown hair from the kidnapping video. And from the look on Robert Smith's face, he realised exactly who they were. Realised, and began to run at the exact same instant that they did.

"Federal Age – " Callen began to shout, before one of the hurriedly tossed grocery bags caught him flush in the face, sending him tripping and lurching forward, trying to keep his balance. Sam escaped impact by dodging aside.

Smith was fit. He had long legs, with a stride that sent him forward it quick bursts. But Agent Sam Hanna was fitter. Trained. Conditioned. He ate right, he lived right. His arms pumped in time with his legs, like a freight train, and he quickly ate the distance between him and the fleeing suspect.

"Federal Agent," shouted Sam, not for the target's benefit, but for that of those around him; a large, intimidating, African American chasing someone down the street would raise suspicions. His words would hopefully prevent anyone trying to interfere, or worse.

Smith took a right at the junction, grabbing a wheelie bin and tipping its contents across the sidewalk. Sam leapt it nimble, not even breaking stride, soaring over discarded egg cartons, week-old newspapers and things that didn't bare thinking about. The gap closed, more and more, with each stride. And, he knew from the slight change in pace, the suspect was flagging. He couldn't keep up the breakneck pace much longer, and –

Sam dived, colliding with the back of Smith, and sending the both of them tumbling into a thick bush. Twigs snapped. Dozens of jagged thorns cut against his flesh, tearing. Below him, Smith struggled, but Sam shifted his weight so that it sat directly onto the small of the other man's spine. He grabbed for an arm, twisting it behind Smith's back.

"Get off me, man," cried Smith.

"Stop resisting," snapped Sam. "Stop resisting."

With some little effort, Sam managed to grab Smith's other arm, preventing it from flailing wildly, before pinning it back too, crossing the wrist across the other. Sam reached behind him, grabbing the black plastic tie from the back pocket of his trousers, slipping them onto Smith's hands and pulling them tight.

Callen raced into sight, skidding to a halt beside them, his SIG trained on the screaming and protesting Smith. "Sam," he said quickly. "You alright?"

"No," replied the panting Sam, pushing himself to his feet and holding out a sleeve, to reveal the thick gash in the fabric. "Look what this fool did to my shirt!"

Callen smiled, before slipping his sidearm into the seat of his jeans, and reaching for his cell.

* * *

"_Are you sure the details you gave us are correct, Nell?"_ asked Kensi.

"That's what I've got right here," said the younger woman into the handsfree kit on her ear. She typed furiously onto the keyboard, bringing up the desired information. _Yup, all correct_. Petty Officer Dominic Valdez; stationed at Long Beach; reporting to Lieutenant Michael Saunders. She repeated all that information to Kensi.

"_That's just it, Nell; Saunders has no idea who we're talking about."_

"Hold on, let me just – " She trailed off, working again on the system before her. "I've sent his picture to Deeks' phone."

She heard the Detective acknowledge receipt, before his voice came, small because of the distance from Kensi's phone; _"This guy."_

"_I'm sorry." _A third voice, one Nell didn't recognise. _"He doesn't work for me."_

"_You ever seen him before?" _That from Kensi. There was no verbal answer; Nell could only assume the Lieutenant had shaken his head.

"_Thanks,"_ continued Kensi. _"Nell? We're gonna head back."_

"Okay," said Nell, disconnecting the call.

"And how are Detective Deeks and Ms. Blye?" came a voice from behind her ear. Nell jumped almost two feet off her chair. She span, seeing the bespectacled Operations Manager.

"Uh, Hetty," said Nell, a nervous glance over at where Eric had the same shocked expression on his adorkable face. "We didn't hear you come in."

"And yet, here I am," was the only reply.

"Well, uhm – Kensi and Deeks have just finished speaking to Petty Officer Valdez's CO. Or, at least, the man our files say should be his CO. But get this; the guy has never even heard of Valdez. Nor did he recognise his picture."

Hetty's calm expression didn't alter, she merely nodded her head. "Mr. Beale, the FBI will be forwarding you their case file regarding the incident. It's a rather thin file, I'm afraid. As soon as they realised who the victim was, the pulled back most of their resources, assuming that it was related to Mr. Smith's criminal past. And that he was most likely already dead."

Nell watched a smile form on Eric's face. "Well, he's not," said the man. "Sam and Callen found him. They're taking him to the boatshed now."

"Where was he?"

"At home," came the reply.

Nell was looking for a reaction now. Hetty blinked. Nell wasn't sure if it was a blink, or a _blink_, but it was something. Their boss had seen so much in her storied career; it was amazing to see her react to something she possibly never could have predicted.

She nodded again. "Well, keep digging into Valdez's past. And see if the FBI case file will at least give you a starting point towards whomever it was who decided to take Mr. Smith for a - a joyride around Los Angeles?"

After a stern glance at both the tech operatives, Hetty headed towards the automatic doors, arms clasped behind her back.

Nell and Eric shared a look.

* * *

"N.C.I.S," growled Sam, for what was probably the fourth time since they'd hauled the cuffed Smith into the boatshed, throwing him down onto the naughty chair. "Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

"I don't know nothin' 'bout no Navy," moaned Smith, shaking his head.

Sam shook his own head, crossing his arms over his chest. The fabric of his fresh white shirt, replacing the torn and dirty black one, stretched tight over his muscles. "Oh, but we know all about you," he said. He glanced through the file before him. "You've got a pretty impressive record here."

"Hey, I done my time," whined Smith.

"Yeah, but it looks like you're gonna have to get ready to do some more."

Smith's jaw went slack. "Don't know what you talking about."

Sam placed the photograph down on the desk, allowing Smith to see his own visage, in black and white, as the masked men bundled him into the back of a van. Smith gulped.

"Why don't you tell us about this?" insisted Sam.

Callen leant near the room's only door, watching impassively. Like a lot of the OSP's operations, there was more to the boatshed than met the eye. To the outsider, that was exactly what it was; a boatshed, filled with tackle, and fishing gear. A place for men to hang out, get ready for expeditions. But look below the surface, and you'd find an impressive security system, two separated rooms with reinforced doors and constant, HD, camera feeds. And more weaponry than you could shake a Mexican Cartel at. Suspects, and Persons of Interest didn't see the Mission-style headquarters; all they'd ever see was the boatshed. And if they were especially unlucky, they'd only see the inside of the interrogation room.

Robert Smith certainly fell into the later category.

"Hey, man," said Smith. "I don't – " His words failed him for a moment. Then he sighed. "Look, alright, these dudes, they showed up outta nowhere, and they started firing their guns into the air. Next thing I know, I'm being grabbed and shoved into the back of their van."

"Yet here you are, two days later, and we find you at home, doing your grocery shopping."

"I managed to get away?" tried Smith.

"You're lying to us," said Callen.

"And we don't like being lied to," growled Sam, putting as much menace into his voice as he could. He couldn't actually do anything to Smith, but that didn't stop him from putting the fear of God into the man.

"Do you want to go back to jail, as an accessory to murder?"

Smith shrank back. Sweat beaded his forehead, and he swallowed. "Murder? I don't – "

Sam placed the picture of the dead Valdez atop the first image. "Petty Officer Dominic Valdez was shot and killed during your pretend kidnapping."

"No way, man. No way," stuttered Smith. "They were firing blanks, man. There was no way…" He stopped, seeming to realise he'd said too much.

"They were not blanks," growled Sam again. "I've seen the damage to the buildings with my own eyes."

Smith sagged, defeated. "They said they were blanks," he muttered again, sadly.

"Tell us what was going on," demanded Callen, moving forward and leaning across the desk at the man.

Smith sighed. "This guy hired me. We were supposed to create a scene out on the street. It was a distraction, man, to cover some robbery they were doing. Make the cops look one way, you know, while they're doing something else?"

Sam and Callen shared a look.

"What were they doing?" asked Sam.

"I don't know, man, they didn't tell me. I was just 'spossed to be the distraction, then I get paid."

"Tell us everything about the men you were working for, and we'll see about getting you a deal. One of them, probably the leader, he was French, right?"

Smith shook his head, looking confused. "No, man. No. Dude was British."

Callen arched an eyebrow.

* * *

Kensi leant forward at the table in the boatshed's main room, staring intently at the monitor as Sam and Callen continue their interrogation, her chin rested against her fist. Deeks was only half paying attention to the three men. His focus was split between that, and the attractive brunette who had been his partner for almost two years. _Sometimes_, a faint part and distant of him added, _it was hard to split his attention at all._

His eyes traced the contours of her profile, from the start of her hair – up into a tail today, as was usually when they were in the middle of an investigation – down to those brown eyes that held such fire at one moment, and such softness at the next. There was only the lighter one visible at the moment; the darkened one, the one with the strange birth mark that was just Kensi Blye, was on the opposite side from him. His journey continued down, over strong cheek bones that looked sharp enough to cut the flesh of any man foolish enough to try and slap her. Down more, to full lips, so soft and inviting. Lips that opened wide when she smiled. Those lips that tugged at parts of Marty Deeks he hadn't even been aware existed. It had been weeks since he'd felt those lips against his. The cover kiss, that was all it had been. Or so she said. _Just a cover_. Still, they haunted his dreams at night.

He tried not to dwell on them too long. Down his eyes continued, over her jaw line, and down to that long, elegant neck, that –

She looked over at him, finally seeming to sense the attention. "What?" she asked, eyes intent on him.

"I know what's going on," he said, smiling easily at her.

She turned back to the monitor, confusion clear on her features. "About the case?"

"You were trying to make me squirm in front of the others."

She turned back to him, incredulous. "Oh God, are you still on about that?" she said. She wished he'd just drop the subject. She didn't even know why she'd done it. _No, no, scratch that_, she thought. _I know exactly why I did it. Because I wanted to._

"You can try and deny it all you like, Missy. What I can't figure out is why?"

"You're delusional," she sighed.

He shook his head, his curly locks swaying with the motion. "Nope, I'm not. And I might not know why we're suddenly playing this game, but I do know that I'm not going to let you win without a fight."

"What are you - ?" she began, before being cut off by the hand resting gently on her thigh. _Oh God._ She could feel her brain turning to mush as charges flashed from the point of contact; down her leg, up her body, and into the rapidly growing warmth between her legs.

She knew she should tell him to stop. Knew she should grab his hand, move it away, but then his fingers started to trail against the denim of her jeans, his thumb rolling in rhythm opposite them. Her heart thudded in her chest, and it was all she could do to keep her breathing regular. She bit her bottom lip to keep from squeaking.

With great effort, she moved her head to look at him. He was smiling again. And any other smile would have caused her to shut him down instantly. Had he been cocky, or victorious, she would have grabbed him by the finger and twisted his arm until he screamed in pain. But his smile had just such softness, such warmth to it, that she couldn't bring herself to disappoint him.

_Yeah_, she thought. _That's the reason you're letting him get away with it. Nice lie, Kensi._

She turned her attention back to the screen, feeling the tenderness of his strong hands as they squeezed and stroked gently against her leg, carefully not inching any higher, and tried not to show just how much she was enjoying it.

* * *

"And you'd never met them before?" asked Sam.

"I told you, no," replied Smith. "They reached out to some guys I know from my time inside, and they offered a lot of money."

"So how did you get in touch with them?"

"I didn't, man. They got in touch with me. Gave me a phone, you know? Said I was only supposed to use it to answer their calls, nothing else."

"Burn phone," muttered Callen. "You didn't have one on you, and our search of your home didn't turn one up either."

"You, uh," he stammered. "You were in my home? Look, man, I was just holding that stuff. For a friend?"

"The phone," repeated Callen forcefully.

"I dumped it," replied Smith. "Like they told me to."

"Where?"

Smith told them.

A moment later, Callen stepped from the interrogation room, rubbing his stubble thoughtfully. Sam was at his side as they crossed into the main room. Just in time for Deeks to throw his arm into the air like it had just been burnt, and scuttle halfway across the table. He looked like the proverbial child who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Kensi, meanwhile, wore a slightly victorious and extremely smug grin on her lips.

_Not even gonna go there_, thought Callen. Aloud, he said; "I want you guys to see if you can find the burn phone. It should still be there. Eric might be able to get something useful off it."

"Right," said Kensi, rising. She led Deeks towards the exit. As she opened the door, she paused, turning around and belting him full bore on the arm. "And you know what that was for," she said, before storming out of the building.

Deeks paced briefly, shaking his arm and opening and closing his fist in an effort to get feeling to return. "Okay, that was..." He finally looked up, and saw Sam and Callen watching him. He smiled, before scurrying for the door.

"Hun-bun. Sunshine. Wait up. Princess? Kens? Kens? Kensi?" His voice was cut off as the door swung shut behind him.

"_Hey guys,"_ came Eric's voice as his face appeared on the monitor, the feed from the interrogation room dwindling into a small box in the corner. "_I got something that you're really gonna wanna see."_

"What is it, Eric?" asked Sam, coming around to face the screen.

"_Dominic Valdez is a lie. His whole history is a fake. A very impressive fake, but a fake none-the-less. The backstopping is immaculate. But the people who created it weren't expecting me _– "

"_Or me,"_ piped in Nell's voice from out of view.

" – _to go the full distance. And then I found his real identity."_

"So who is he?" asked Callen.

Now, Eric didn't look pleased. _"Sending you the file now."_ A second later, a fresh image opened up on the monitor, an ID. Again, with Valdez's image on it. But beside that, a very familiar logo.

"Son of a – " breathed Callen.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N –** The last third of this was my first actiony scene, so I hope you enjoy it. Any mistakes in that section are probably _Rule of Cool_ as opposed to _Did Not Do The Research_. Since Google is my research. I'm kinda like Stephenie Meyer in that respect. I'm also glad I seemed to have frustrated people by ending the last chapter on a cliff-hanger. That was my intention, and I have a couple others planned.  
**Disclaimer –** I only Claim Dis plot. I don't Own Dese characters. Whatever.

* * *

Like a rolling avalanche, Callen stormed his way into the bullpen, clutching the manila file in his grip. Other Agents took one look at him, saw the vein throbbing at his temple, and wisely gave him a wide berth, fearful they might be on the receiving end of his wrath. His jaw was set, and his darkened eyes searched determinedly for his target. Not in their work space. Or in the gadget room. Not at Hetty's desk. Maybe upstairs, in Ops?

He turned towards the stairs, then saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Hetty was sat behind her desk, pouring herself a cup of hot, steaming, tea. Shock and disbelief forced itself passed the rage that surged in his body; how did the woman do that? She was like a freakin' ninja.

But the shock didn't last long, and the anger flew back into his veins, and he stomped up the small level to where she sat, dropping the file onto her desk. She didn't react at first, simply finished pouring her drink, before glancing at it through her large glasses, taking in the picture of Vadez and the new ID.

"Dominic Valdez," said Callen. "Real name; Jordon Guerrero. Special Agent Jordon Guerrero, NCIS. He was one of us."

"Yes," replied the woman over tented fingers. "I rather believed that might be the case."

Callen shook his head in disbelief. "What the hell is going on here, Hetty?"

"While I cannot be certain of our esteemed Assistant Director's reasons or methodology, I can only hazard a guess. NCIS investigates the deaths of sailors. Mr. Valdez's cover was that of a sailor. Therefore, we needed to investigate his killing."

"But why not let us know that he was NCIS? Why all the secrecy?"

"Had you know him to be a fellow agent, Mr. Callen, would you have approached this case any differently?"

"Of course," Callen replied before he had even registered the question. "We take care of our own."

"And therein, I suspect, lays the dilemma. Given the seemingly random nature surrounding Mr. Vladez's killing, too much investigation on our part may have roused the suspicions of whomever it was he was set to investigate, especially if his cover were still intact."

"And we have no idea if that is still the case," said Granger, appearing behind Callen, as if from nowhere. _There must a special training course they send senior NCIS officials to teach them to do that._ A small part of Callen, the part that wasn't simmering with anger, thought it more than likely that Hetty was the instructor.

Granger stepped up, besides Hetty's desk, glancing briefly at the file, before continuing; "We must tread carefully. It's likely that Agent Guerrero's backstopping is still secure, given that it took the entire NCIS resources in Ops to discover it was only a legend, but there is too much at stake here."

"Yeah?" said Callen. "With all due respect, the whole thing was falling apart from the get-go. Especially since Valdez – Guerrero – didn't actually work where his records said he did. That sort of thing is going to arouse suspicions in anyone doing even the most cursory of investigations."

Granger's eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about, Agent Callen? Guerrero reported to his cover job every day, like clockwork. It was part of the operation. The whole point of inserting him there was because our suspicions had been roused to somebody in that department."

"Then why would - ?" Callen's words died off, and he screwed his eyes shut. _Of course._ He knew exactly why Lt. Saunders had claimed to not recognise someone who worked directly under him. Aloud, he said; "Whatever is going on, Michael Saunders has something to do with it."

He became animated, crossing into the bullpen quickly. "Eric," he shouted, up towards Ops. A second later, the familiar glasses emerged from the darkened room.

"Yo," said Eric.

"Where are Kensi and Deeks?"

The man glanced at the pad in his hand. "Uh, they're just coming up on where Smith dumped his burn phone. I was just going to come and tell you that I also got a hit on the van used in his abduction."

Callen rubbed his chin. "Okay," he called. "Send them the details and have them check it out after they've found the phone. Then call Sam, and have him meet me at Long Beach Naval Base."

Eric gave him a little jaunty salute, before taking his board shorts back into his technological cave.

Callen turned back to Granger, jabbing a finger sternly towards the man. "And when I come back, I want to know exactly what case you had Valdez working on. And I'm not taking 'No' for an answer."

Without even waiting for the Assistant Director to reply, Callen swirled out of the main doors like a rampant tornado, back into the bright sunlight.

* * *

"You know, when I took the position as LAPD liaison to NCIS, this was possibly the last thing I ever expected to do." Deeks voice resounded with echo, bouncing off the thick, rounded, concrete walls and emerging out of the open manhole. Kensi leant back on her car, arms stretched back on the hood behind her, head high and eyes raised towards the bright sunlight. And smiled in the warmth.

"Man up down there, Deeks," she called to him. "They can't all be glamorous assignments."

"I'd settle for an assignment that didn't smell like the inside of an adult diaper."

"Too much information," she replied, pulling a disgusted face.

"And I don't see why I need to be the one down here. I thought you were all affirmative action; if you want equal rights, it should be you doing this."

"Hey, I'm just an old fashioned gal," Kensi said, not even bothering to keep the grin off her face. "I believe that the women should have the babies, and the men should fish around in the poop." _Oh God. Best. Assignment. Ever!_ "Besides, I won the coin toss, remember?"

"I still think you cheated."

Kensi smiled; of course she had._ What this needs is popcorn!_

"Remind me why we didn't get LAPD to do this?" Deek's cry was strangled.

"We did," she replied smoothly.

"Oh, ha-de-ha-ha. Now I know why Callen gave us this job to – Ah-ha, I got it – No wait, wait, that's – Well, that's just wrong. That's just wrong on so many levels."

Kensi laughed.

There was the sound of splashing water. "I mean, seriously, who would flush something like that away? I used to think I'd seen the detritus of society, but this – "

Kensi closed her eyes, and allowed her partner's words to wash over her. Strange, that she could become so accustomed to the constant flow of verbiage from the man. At times, she almost found it relaxing, like the sound of the ocean lapping against the shore. Two years was a long time to have a partner. Not as long as some, even Sam and Callen for starters, but to work besides someone for fifty-odd weeks a year, five days a week? Sharing a car for hours at a time? Putting your life in their hands? You would get… used to someone. And she was used to Deeks, that much was true. And he, well he seemed to be used to her too. And that in itself was a surprise. Kensi Blye was entrenched behind a brick wall, circled by a deep moat, guarded by sharp pointy sticks, and enclosed by an electric fence. But Marty Deeks could read her like a book.

It was almost as if her defences were as nothing to the man. He walked right passed them. Ignored each and every one. He had no shame, there was almost no line he wouldn't cross (_At least_, she added with a faint blush, _until today. And I'm the one who started that_). He infuriated her, he delighted her. And she knew, from even the most casual glance into his eyes, that she did the same to him.

See, the thing was… there was this - this 'thing' between them. And neither of them would voice it. Because both of them had issues; trust, commitment, and more. Issues that just got in the way. But over the past two years, they'd come to trust one another, and become committed to being at least partners with each other. He'd become more serious, more focussed on the job, while working with her. And, (she would only admit this inside her own head), while she might have the greatest sense of humour in the world, she was now more than capable of holding her own in banter with the man, sometimes even leaving him lost for words with sharp wit.

As Deeks would probably say, were he privy to her private thoughts, they completed each other. And then, of course, she'd need to hit him for being so damned cheesy.

"Got it!" Deeks' triumphant cry dragged her from her reverie, and she blinked back to the here-and-now.

She watched as he climbed from the manhole, sneakers and the hem of his jeans darkened with wetness, and in his hands was the dripping burn phone they had sought. She held out an open evidence bag, and he plopped it in gratefully, before scrawling his details to ensure the proper chain of evidence.

"Now, what I need," he said, throwing his arms wide and advanced on her, "is a big hug."

"Deeks!" Her outraged cry was mingled with laughter as she scampered back and out of her reach. "Stop!" She mentally kicked herself for giggling like a schoolgirl. He chased after her, a wide grin breaking his face, before he finally had her backed up against her SUV. "No, keep those hands away from me."

"You didn't complain earlier," he said.

"You weren't covered in sewer water earlier," she retorted. Then stopped when she saw the sudden change in the meaning behind his smile. _Dammit_, she thought as she ran the last sentence back through her mind. _Not again._

And then, he was close to her, invading her personal space. The hot air from his lungs brushed against her cheek, and her heart skipped several beats. She tried very hard not to stare at his lips. Instead, she looked up into his soft blue eyes and – _No, No, that's not helpful at all._

"So you're saying you have no problems with my hands normally?" he breathed, tone playful, but with a layer of something else.

"Deeks," she tried.

Then, the hard, hungry, edge in his eyes melted away, to be replaced by mischief, and he brought one hand up, waving fingers towards her face. "Go on, just one. Just the one. It'll make us even."

"Deeks," she said again, trying to remain serious.

"No, really," he said, inching his hand closer. Her nose wrinkled as she edged away.

"Don't make me shoot you," she said, hand going meaningfully towards the SIG tucked into her waistband. And he just laughed at her, before backing off.

"Okay, okay, no need to get rowdy. But, just so you know, my hands are here for you, any time you want. Day or night. To take care of anything you might need them to take care of. You only have to ask."

"Deeks," she said for the third time, pointedly, to let him know the game was over. _At least, for now._

"I'm just saying."

"Well, go say it to someone else. We need to get this phone back to Eric."

He nodded, heading around the front of the car and towards the passenger side, while she slipped into the driver's seat, flipping a switch as she did so. Deeks' ocean blue eyes widened in surprise as he tried the handle.

"Uh, Kens?" he said. "Doors locked. Kens?" He tapped on the window, leaving damp smudge marks on the glass.

"You're not getting in my car like that," she said, loud enough so he could hear her though the window. "I just got the seats vacuumed."

"Kens, this is not funny. Let me in."

"Not a chance," she told him, starting the engine. The car purred throatily for her. "You'll just have to walk back to Ops."

"Kens!" he said again.

She smiled, making sure her wave was as dainty as possible. As girly as she could make it. Then she pulled the car forward. She caught sight of him in the rear view mirror, pouting. He was just so cute when he – _No, no, no. Don't have thoughts like that._ She stopped the car, and watched him sigh in relief, then scurry forwards towards her.

As he reached for the handle, she pulled forward again, laughing.

"Really?" he called at her tail lights. "And people think I'm the immature one?"

* * *

Saunders' office stood empty. Callen and Sam glanced around, looking for signs that the man would be returning. It didn't look likely. Paperwork seemed to have been abandoned, files open, and a cold cup of coffee sat on the desk. Callen headed to the desk, plonking himself down on the swivel chair. Saunders' laptop was off, and he quickly fired it up. He reached into his pocket for his Ironclad.

"Sam," he said to his partner, "I'm going to see if I can get anything off his computer. See if you can find out where he went."

"You got it, G," Sam replied, before disappearing out of the door and back into the depths of the Naval Base.

Callen flipped on his phone. "Eric? I've got Saunders' computer, but it's password protected."

"_Okay_," came the reply. "_Put me in, and I'll see what I can do_."

Callen slipped the Ironclad into one of the USB ports on the side of the laptop, almost glad that Eric had said that to him, rather than Deeks. The detective wouldn't have let a phrase like that slip by without comment. The Ironclad almost instantly started to purr, and the screen changed to streams of technical information that Callen couldn't have explained if you held a gun to his head. A download bar appeared after a beat, steadily creeping higher towards filling with red. A few seconds later, it completed.

"You got everything, Eric?" asked Callen

"_Got it. Starting to sort through now. I should have everything you need when you get back."_

Suddenly, the door opened. Callen reacted, rising, hand reaching for his SIG, before he realised it was Sam.

"You're jumpy," said the big man with a smile.

"Comes from being so Street," replied Callen, grinning back. "Never know what's gonna happen. You got anything?"

"Yeah, spoke to his secretary. He stepped out for lunch about a minute after Kensi and Deeks spoke to him, and hasn't been seen since."

Callen shook his head. "He knew we'd be back, so he bolted."

"Looks like it. But I did get his personal cell number of the woman."

"It's a start," said Callen.

Four minutes later, they were back in Sam's Charger, speeding out of the Naval Base.

"Eric," Callen said into his phone, voice layered with urgency. "We've got a number for Lieutenant Saunders. We need a location for him." He reamed the number off to the tech operative.

"_I can do that, provided he hasn't turned his phone off."_ There was a moment's pause, and Callen could almost see the man tapping away rapidly on his keyboard. "_You're in luck; the phone's GPS is still on."_

"Lead us in then, Eric," ordered Callen.

The Charger raced through the Los Angeles streets, which were starting to become busier as the day crawled towards rush hour. Eric kept them updated on changes to the phone's position, but for the most part it seemed to be heading north, towards Torrance. Whatever the man had been up to, he'd clearly taken more than a few detours and stops, as he hadn't got that far away, despite the hours since the junior agents had visited him. The Charger closed the distance, muscle engine growling with leashed power.

"_He should be right in front of you_," said Eric after a while. "_Taking a left now!_"

Callen saw a car turn left, a silver Ford Kuga. "There he is," he said, pointing towards it.

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," said Sam, taking the turning a few minutes later. Callen threw him a grin.

"Just keep you distance," he said. "Let's see where he goes."

"That's good," Sam said. "Maybe next, you wanna call my grandma and tell her how to suck eggs?"

Callen shook his head. "You know, I never understood that expression."

Suddenly, without warning, the Kuga raced away, opening the distance in a matter of seconds. "Dammit," snarled Sam. "He made us."

"I told you to be careful," said Callen.

"I was," protested Sam.

He rammed the throttle down, the Charger roaring in appreciation at being finally uncaged. Focus flooded into Sam's brain, eyes locked on the car before him, but mind reaching out and ensuring it was taking note of everything else around them. Saunders' Kuga took a left, tyres squealing in protest at the pace. It swayed across the street, and the man only just got it back under control before wrenching it aside to avoid an oncoming vehicle. There was a blast of horns, and the other car skidded to a halt. It passed on Callen's right as the Charger raced passed it.

The traffic ahead was starting to thicken, but Saunders' weaved his car in and out of it, reluctant to give up any speed. Clearly desperate to get away from his pursuers. _Not from me, he aint_, thought Sam , keeping the Charger right on the man's heels, using years of training and experience to anticipate his movements. Saunders took a left, darting down into a side alley, sending trash cans and empty cardboard boxes flying behind him. Sam didn't slow down.

Suddenly, the Kuga breached the mouth of the alley, out onto another busy main street. Saunders dragged his steering wheel to the right, sending the car careening in that direction. But Sam could see it was too late, that the man had misjudged. The back of the Kuga caught the bonnet of another car with a smash and a spark of metal. It span across the road, uncontrollable, before clipping the kerb with its driver's side front wheel. The tyre gave almost instantly, crumpling and sending the car sliding to a halt.

Sam pulled the Charger to a stop, and Callen had the door open in an instant, hauling himself out. He started towards the damaged Kuga when the door swung apart, and Saunders staggered out, clutching at a gash on his forehead. No doubt, the man had hit the steering wheel during impact.

"Federal Agents," shouted Callen. "Don't move."

But then he saw the flash of silver in the man's right hand. "Don't do it," he demanded, even as he saw Saunders raise the gun towards him. Purely on instinct, Callen's own SIG was up first, smooth and familiar in his grip, like a natural extension of his own arm. He pulled the trigger twice; twin blooms of blood sprayed from Saunders' chest a split second later.

The man crumpled into a heap by the remains of his car. Callen raced forward, SIG still trained on the man, and kicked the handgun away from Saunders's limp, lifeless, hands. Sam was at his side a second later, his own weapon drawn and ready.

Sighing, Callen replaced his SIG, and looked about him. He could already hear the sirens starting to get closer._ Dammit_, he thought. _We had one lead in this case, and he had to make me kill him._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N** – Give me reviews. Treat me like one of your painted ladies. The more reviews I get (good, bad, whatever), the less time I spend doing things I should be, and more time I spend writing this.  
**Disclaimer** – A few people have being positive about the interactions of the team that have appeared in this story. I can take no credit for that; I only put them in the situations. The writers and cast of NCIS Los Angeles have created such well-rounded and vibrant characters that they pretty much write themselves. This is their sandbox, I'm just playing in it. While they're away. On Vacation. Without them knowing I'm here. Shhh.

* * *

Callen crossed and uncrossed his arms for what felt like the hundredth time, glaring at Granger and trying to put every ounce of his dislike and distrust into the expression. Granger ignored him, instead choosing to focus his attention on one of the smaller monitors where, right now, another of the OSP personnel were working another case. He would never trust the man, that much was sure. He knew Granger and Hetty had a history, their paths having crossed sometime before the Assistant Director's rise in the ranks, but the exact details they both kept close to their chests. And Hetty certainly seemed to think his new position had changed Granger, and not for the better. Kensi - while not exactly having warmed to the man – was oddly less distrustful of him since the whole incident with her father's killer, when Granger had accused her of a series of murders, though she hadn't shared with the team why her attitude had changed. Well, at least with most of the team; Callen imagined she'd shared some of the information with Deeks. And as for Sam… Sam created bonds of family, stronger than steel, no doubt learnt from the familial relationships of the SEALS. To Sam, Granger was an unwelcome outsider, who threatened to unbalance the fragile relationship of the team.

He glanced over at his partner, who paced in frustration. The big man looked up every time the doors slid open to let Agents and bright shards of sunlight into the darkened tech hub, before returning to his pacing.

Next, Callen turned his attention to their boss; Hetty observed them all silently, what thoughts spilling through her brain Callen could only guess at. The small woman was a mystery in every sense of the word; sometimes, her tales seemed so far fetched that they had to be fabricated, but any time someone asked her for more details, she would deny having said anything in the first place. And the reputation she had in the community… It was like working for Big Foot. You never knew if the rumours were true or not, but everyone seemed to have heard at least one.

Callen went back to waiting. Eventually, the door opened again, and Kensi made her way into Ops.

"Well, the van's a dead end," she said by way of greeting. "Looked like it'd been scrubbed clean. Forensics is going to go over it with a fine toothed comb, but I doubt they'll find anything."

Callen nodded. He hadn't expected that to give them any leads. Then he realised Kensi was flying solo. "Where's Deeks?" he asked.

"Oh, he had to go shower," replied Kensi, grinning.

Callen returned the smile; he'd known that Kens would somehow finagle her partner into doing the dirty (_pun intended_) work of retrieving the phone.

"Should we not wait for him, Ms. Blye?" asked Hetty.

"No," said Kensi, shaking her head and crinkling her nose up. "I get the feeling he's going to be some time."

"Very well," growled Granger, turning to Eric, and nodding once.

Eric began bringing images up on the large monitor behind him; a half dozen or so faces, all of differing races and creeds. There was one in the centre, larger than the others, of a grim-faced man with cool grey eyes, slicked back black hair and a perma-stubble that Callen was slightly jealous of.

"Adrian Anderson," said Granger. "Ex-MI5, arrested in 2006 for selling secrets to the Israelis. He escaped in 2009, and has spent the past few years working as an arms- and information-dealer. No one from a dozen law enforcement agencies across the globe has been able to locate him since. Then, roughly seven months ago, through one of our sources, we learnt that Anderson was interested in the communications office at Long Beach. That in itself was strange; they did little more than organise video chats between enlisted, serving at sea and abroad, with their families here in Los Angeles."

"Still," said Sam, "there's a lot you can figure out just by having someone in the inside; ship positions, troop deployments. It's a lot of valuable information if you can shift through the data."

"Which is why we inserted Agent Guerrero in the office. We suspected that Anderson might have someone on the inside, helping pass along whatever information might be needed. Now we know it was Saunders."

"Who was Guerrero's handler?" asked Callen.

Eric brought up another image, one that Callen instantly recognised. "Peter Dorsett," he said.

"You know him, Mr. Callen?" asked Hetty.

"We've worked together a few times, but I only really know him by reputation. He's a good man. Why isn't he here, giving us this briefing?"

"Agent Dorsett went dark around the same time as Guerrero was killed," answered Granger. "We have no idea if he's been compromised, which is why I was reluctant to share any information about the active investigation with you initially."

Callen nodded. It made sense. _Doesn't mean I have to like it though_, he thought. "We need to find Anderson, and we need to make sure Dorsett is still safe."

"Indeed," said Hetty. "Perhaps we can find some clue to their whereabouts by locating the rest of these individuals?" The question was phrased to Granger one way, but Callen heard the underlying query regardless.

Granger turned to the screen behind him. "His crew, for want of a better term. Or, at least, those we suspect to be working for him. Anderson's like a ghost, and the people he employs are almost as intangible."

"On it," said Eric, grin wide with glee. He flexed his fingers, expectantly, before settling down to work wonders on the computer system before him. Nell sidled up beside him, watching over his shoulder intently.

Callen heard the door to Ops slide open, and felt another presence enter. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sam sniff theatrically twice, before curling his mouth up in disgust. "What's that smell?" he said.

"Hey," came the expected surfer drawl of Deeks. "I'll have you know I took three showers to get this off me."

"Maybe you should have done a better job the first time?"

Callen turned; Deeks had changed into his two-tone long sleeve blue T-Shirt, with a towel draped around his neck and blond hair matted and damp. He was still clearly wet, as his shirt clung to his frame. Kensi was staring at him with something primal behind her eyes, lips parted slightly. Callen resisted the urge to shake his head; it wasn't his business unless it affected their work, and so far their somewhat unorthodox partnership hadn't.

Instead, he coughed loudly. Kensi gave a small start.

"Kens, you and Deeks go speak to Audrey again, see if any of these guys' mug shots rings a bell. Fill him in on the way over there." He tried not to see the merry arching of Deeks' eyebrows at his last sentence. "Sam and I'll go check out Saunders's house, see if anything useful pops up."

"Aw," pouted Kensi. "Do I have to take stinky with me?"

Deeks smirked. "What would you do if I wasn't here?" he asked his partner.

Kensi opened her mouth for a retort, but instead it was Sam who answered; "She'd be okay. We'd buy her a puppy. It'd follow her around everywhere, making incessant yapping noises, and not contributing to cases."

"Yeah," smiled Callen, instantly knowing his place was to take his partner's side against their liaison. "She wouldn't even notice you'd gone."

Deeks looked outraged. "Hey, I'll have you know I contribute plenty to cases."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Deeks," said Kensi, smiling to take the edge out of her words, before leading her partner out of the darkened room. Before the doors had even slid silently shut, the Detective's smart mouth was already working again, no doubt something about Kensi 'filling him in'.

"Let's hit the Street, then, Sam," said Callen. The big man nodded.

* * *

He'd worn the shirt while he was still wet very much on purpose. She knew that. And she knew that he knew she knew.

And she'd done exactly what Deeks had no doubt planned on; she'd stared. She hadn't meant to. But seeing the fabric stretch across his tight, toned frame had just sent electric sparks shooting across the synapses in her brain, drowning out all rational thought. She actually imagined herself, just for a moment, jumping him and running her hands across his chest. But before her imagination could kick into overdrive, before she could get any further in her ridiculous daydream, Callen's not-so-subtle cough had startled her, and she realised she'd been caught.

Dammit, what was wrong with her today? Okay, sure, Deeks was moderately okay to look at, kinda okay to hang out with in small doses, and there was that 'thing', but she'd never actively zoned out and fantasised about him at work before. It was the dream, wasn't it? It'd messed with her brain, making her do things she would never normally do so publically. She actually surprised herself when she added those last two words to the thought.

"Sugar Bear?" His voice drifted into her thoughts, and she snapped herself back to the here-and-now. He was staring at her, half smile on his lips. Aside from that, his face was unreadable, but she'd have given even odds that he knew exactly what she'd been thinking about.

_Okay, Deeks, you win that round_, she thought. _Game's not over yet though_. She tried to convince herself it was her competitive personality speaking, and began to cross the car park towards the bar.

Audrey Michaels hadn't been at home when they'd returned to her domicile, and Kensi had reasoned that – as the day was gently drawing towards night – she'd probably headed to work. Since she and Valdez hadn't been married, she wasn't entitled to any payment from the military. Especially since Valdez hadn't been Valdez at all, and hadn't been military either. A quick call to Ops, and Nell had rounded up the name of the bar the woman worked at, 'Mason's Place'. Kensi knew it; it was exactly at Audrey described it, a watering hole for sailors from Long Beach Naval Base.

It was nearing five when they'd arrived at Mason's Place. Deeks held the door open for her with a wicked grin on his lips, and she resisted the urge to punch him. She would not give the man the satisfaction. It was cramped and darkened inside; weak lamps hung from the ceiling and above the tattered pool table pushed into one corner. Most of the illumination came from the bar itself, all bright lighting and mirrors, designed to attract the few customers at this hour like a moth to a flame.

Audrey stood behind the bar, paused in the process of drying off a glass with a towel. Her puffy eyes were distant, staring off into space. She'd clearly been crying again. Kensi could only imagine what the woman must have been thinking at that exact moment.

The partners approached the bar, and Audrey seemed to sense, rather than see, them, shaking herself from her fugue. "What can I…?" she began, before recognising the pair. Her eyes lit up slightly, and Kensi saw hope blossom there. "You have news? About what happened to Dom?"

Deeks shook his head, sadly. Then, he proceeded to tell Audrey the truth about Dominic Valdez. They'd argued long and hard about it on the car ride over. NCIS protocol dictated that people did not know what you did for a living, even after death. Hell, even after marriage. It's why they all had an impressive list of aliases for dates and social functions. Even Sam's wife didn't know the truth about what he did. That had been Kensi's stance, but Deeks had argued hard against it. He reasoned that Audrey deserved to know the truth. Had a right to it, even. Kensi had tried every angle she could think of, but on this one subject her partner had remained steadfast and unmovable. So she'd proposed a compromise; Deeks had to be the one to tell her. Not even that had changed his mind.

Seeing the conflicting expressions crash and swarm over Audrey Michaels' face, she wished she'd argued harder, or even threatened to bring Hetty into the discussion. Audrey looked… Well, she'd seemed devastated before. Now, she looked completely destroyed. Incinerated, and scattered to the four winds.

Then, the anger and denial came. She'd had a few days to adjust to Petty Officer Valdez' death, but now, hearing this new information, had catapulted her right back in her grief. She shouted at them, called them liars, demanded they leave immediately. A few locals and off-duty servicemen looked over at the noise, but Kensi just flashed her badge when the first had approached to see what the fuss was and diffused that situation.

And somehow, Deeks calmed the hysteria. His voice, actually breaking with compassion, sated Audrey, and they managed to manoeuvre her into a booth. Kensi sat by Deeks, opposite Audrey. He didn't say anything for a moment, just leant forward towards Audrey, understanding in his blue eyes. He took the woman's hands gently in his own, creating a physical connection between the two. Feeling something that most certainly wasn't jealousy, Kensi shifted slightly, pressing her hip against his. He gave her a gentle smile.

"Look, Audrey," said Deeks. "I know that you hate him right now, for lying to you, about who and what he was. And I get that, I do, but I have to tell you, I know a little bit about undercover work; and falling in love, getting a long term girlfriend, that isn't ever part of the job description. He might have hit on you as part of his cover to begin with, but that should have been it. What you felt for him, he must have felt for you. I think he really did fall for you, and fall hard. And I really do believe that when the mission was all over, he would have told you the truth, thrown himself on your mercy, because he was truly, madly, deeply, in love with you. And no matter what, he would have wanted to stay with you."

Audrey sniffed, before smiling. There was another long silence, stretching into moments. "Yeah," she said eventually. "And I think I would have accepted him."

Deeks smiled back at her. _Marty Deeks, everybody,_ thought Kensi. Childish, immature, with a severe lack of understanding of the concept of personal space. Cute, sure, with a somewhat boyish charm. And sometimes, just sometimes, an emotional depth and insight that astounded her. And, she hated to even admit to herself, aroused her.

_Oh God, really? Right now? Do you _want_ more dreams about him? No, no, whatever you do, don't answer that!_

"You know," the woman continued, shifting her eyes between Kensi and him, seeming to see something there. "You guys make a really cute couple."

He opened his mouth – to protest no doubt, or make his usual joke about benefits – but it was Kensi who spoke first; "Thanks," she said, simply. She shot a sideways glance at her partner; the side of his neck was turning a deep shade of red. A small smile curled one corner of her lips.

"Aw," said Audrey, her sniffles gone for now, and she put a hand over her mouth to cover her tentative smile. "I made him blush."

Kensi laughed. "You sure did. And believe me, that doesn't happen much. If you can get him to shut up for more than two minutes, you'll be my hero." The two women shared an easy, knowing, smile. Then Kensi turned sombre. "Audrey, we really need your help. I know that Guerrero didn't tell you a lot about the work he was doing, or anything like that, but we really need to know if there's anything at all you can remember. No matter how small, or insignificant you think it might be. It could just be the lead we need to catch his killer."

Audrey looked pained. "I'm sorry, I've really tried. But…"

"It's okay," said Kensi, placing a comforting hand on the woman's arm. "How about you just look at some pictures? See if there's anyone you recognise?"

Audrey agreed she could do at least that. Deeks, now seemingly recovered from his flushing fit, scrolled through some snaps on his phone. Audrey didn't recognise any of them, until –

"Hey, I know that guy," she said, on one of the last images; a slender man with buzzed hair and thick brows. "Yeah, he's in here most nights, and some days, holding court over in the corner. Didn't think him to be a sailor, but he always had a bunch of different Navy guys with him. Laughing and talking about stuff, always getting the rounds in. Flirting with some of the girls. I think his name's Paul, or something?"

_Nothing like it_, thought Kensi. His file had been in the information Eric had sent to their phones. _François_ _ St James, ex-BFST._ _French Special Forces._

"Now that I think about it," continued Audrey, "he was in here the day I first met Dom – I mean, Jordon. He was the guy who took our picture for us." She smiled, fondly remembering the day. Kensi recalled the picture, framed and on the woman's mantelpiece.

_Either looking for an 'In' with the man_, Kensi thought, _or maybe even trying to get a print off the phone. _

Aloud, she said; "Any idea when he might be in next?"

Audrey shook her head, before shrugging. "I mean, he might be in tonight? But he never kept what you might call a regular schedule, you know?"

Kensi nodded, deep in thought. "Okay, thanks," she said, after a moment, before handing the woman a card. "He comes in, you call us. But don't act differently around him, okay? Just… be careful? We don't know what this guy is capable of."

"I will," said Audrey.

* * *

"Happy birthday, Eric," said Sam, placing the laptop on the desk in front of the technical operator.

"Oh, hey, what's this?" said Eric, pulling his attention from the monitor and the complicated work before him.

"It's a laptop," said Callen. He threw Sam a glance. "I'd have thought he'd know what one of those is by now."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure they have them at MIT," added Sam.

Eric clarified; "No, I mean whose is it?" He knew the two men were playing with him. Sometimes, he wished he had the gift for banter that others in the team did.

"It's Saunders'," said Sam.

Eric blinked in confusion, glancing at the screen he'd just been working on.

"But if that's Saunders' laptop, then what did you log me into earlier?"

"Saunders' laptop," grinned Callen.

"But…" said Eric. His mouth moved up and down briefly, but no words came out.

"Take it easy, Eric," said Sam. "You're looking like a guppy fish at feeding time. This is Saunders' personal laptop we just picked up from his house. Looks like he'd been on his way to collect it when we caught up with him earlier."

"Two laptops," breathed Eric, finally understanding. "That's pretty smart, I guess."

"Not really," said Callen. "Nothing Saunders did today was smart. If he hadn't pretended to Deeks and Kensi that he didn't know who Valdez was, we probably wouldn't have had any reason to suspect him."

"Not everyone can be a criminal genius," said Sam.

"And you want me to see if there's anything on this one that might lead you further?" asked Eric.

"Unless you found anything of interest on his work's one, yeah," agreed Callen.

Eric swivelled his chair back to the monitor, brining up file after file of information. "Not really. It's just that; work stuff. Most of it is pretty low level stuff. Nothing to fully explain why he ran, nothing worth turning traitor for. Uh, not that there's ever any justifiable reason for turning traitor. I mean, heck, even his browser history is work related. He was either smarter than you give him credit for, or someone gave him explicit instructions not to use his work's system for anything that could raise an investigator's suspicions."

"Wouldn't be the first person to be smarter than we gave them credit for," said Sam, ruffling Eric's hair. Eric grinned at the compliment.

"Leave the laptop with me, I'll see if there's anything on this one that'll be useful for you guys."

"And there's that MIT education, shining through," said Callen.

"Ahem." The cough from behind made all three men jump slightly. Eric turned, expecting to see Hetty, but his chest gave a little flutter when he saw that, instead of the operation's manager, it was Nell.

"Have you been taking infiltration lessons from Hetty?" asked Sam, head tilted to one side.

Nell's mouth thinned and her eyes widened in that way of hers, as if she was physically preventing herself from saying something. _Which is ridiculous_, thought Eric. _If she had been on a course like that, she'd have told me. That's what partners do_.

"I've managed to get some information from the burn phone Deeks fished out of the sewer," she said instead, taking a seat by Eric and bringing up a screen of data. "Smith was right; there was only one number on it, all incoming calls. The number is no longer in service, and I'm not getting any readings on the GPS."

"This all both of you got?" asked Sam, sounding disappointed. "I expected better than that."

Nell shook her head sadly. "All I could find out is that both numbers were sequential, and bought from the same place at the same time. Unfortunately, looking into the records, they were paid for with cash."

"Hold on," said Eric, sliding in close to Nell and taking control of the screen. He quickly skimmed through the data until he found what he was looking for. Swiftly, he began to type, fingers moving in a blur. "Okay, purchased from 'Phones R U' in Beverly Hills… two weeks ago, ten thirty in the morning… and… got it."

Behind the group, the main screen bloomed into light; Sam and Callen moved around the centre console for a better view. Security footage began to play. Eric paused it. And there, at the counter of the phone store, was a grey haired man, purchasing the burn phones. Eric instantly started Facial Rec on him, and a second later got a result.

The information flashed up next to the footage.

"Raymond Carter," read Callen aloud. "Weapons smuggler. Wanted by Interpol and the FBI, and a host of other countries. Suspected associate of Adrian Anderson. Looks like we've got confirmation that Guerrero's death wasn't an accident. Granger was right to worry; he was compromised and targeted."

Just then, the Ops phone began to ring. Eric glanced at the display. "It's Kensi," he said to the others.

Callen leant forward, hitting the speaker button. "Kensi, what have you got?"

"_Callen?"_ came her tinny reply. _"I just received a call from Audrey Michaels. François St James is in the bar right now."_

"Okay," said Callen. His brain churned the information over, considering it from multiple angles, picking and discarding strategies. "Head back here. We need to get close to St. James. I've got an idea how we can do that, but you're probably not going to like it much."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N** – I'm not sure, but this chapter might be slipping as close to M-rated as Deeks' hand does. I can never judge these things, so maybe read with care? Also, this was a pretty difficult chapter to write, as it switched between a lot of locations and characters, but didn't move forward in the timeline any. Hope you enjoy.  
**Disclaimer** – Every character in this (with the notable exception of any who appear on a certain TV show) belongs to me.

* * *

"_Why do I always have to be the bait?"_ asked Kensi over the earpiece. Callen almost considered it a whine, but since he knew Kensi didn't whine, he couldn't think of her tone in that way.

Though it clearly was a whine.

"You're just lucky I guess," he replied. "Tell you what, next time we get a bad guy who is gay, we'll send Deeks in as the bait."

Sat beside him in the darkened Charger, parked across the street from the bar, Sam laughed. "So, you're assuming this fictional criminal is also blind, deaf and has no sense of smell?"

"_I'm right here!"_ Deeks was definitely whining. _"I can hear you."_

"We know, and we can smell you from out here. I thought Hetty made you shower again before she gave you new clothes for this assignment?"

"_She did,"_ admitted Deeks. _"Twice."_

Callen shook his head, wearing a half smile. "What's our target up to?"

It was Kensi who replied; _"Still in the booth, talking to that same guy. Eric managed to get an ID on him yet?"_

"Not yet," replied Callen. "He's not Navy though, that's for sure."

"_Was it the hair cut that gave it away?"_ asked Deeks.

Callen sighed. The detective was right though; shoulder length hair like St James' companion had wouldn't last five minutes in any branch of the military. "You guys know the plan, right?" he said, getting the conversation on track.

"_I gain his trust,"_ said Kensi, _"and slip into casual conversation that I might be in a position to provide him with whatever information Saunders' did before he died."_

"I still don't like it, G," said Sam. "We don't know exactly what Saunders was supplying to Anderson, or even if it went through St James."

"I know Sam," admitted Callen. "It's a long shot, but we're desperate, and we don't have any other leads right now. We need St James if we want to get to Anderson. He's the priority. And if anyone can get in with this guy, it's Kensi."

* * *

"Aw," said Kensi. "You say the nicest things."

"_Only 'cause I mean them, Kens,"_ came Callen's reply over her earpiece. She had to strain to hear it over the piped music and rumble of conversation from within the semi-packed Mason's Place.

Kensi lifted her glass to her lips, taking a sip of the non-alcoholic beverage. Her eyes were locked with Deeks', and a small smile played on her lips. He stood less than a foot away from her, leaning back against the bar but still somehow managing to invade her personal space. She was certainly not the one invading his.

"I say nice things to you all the time," he said, pouting slightly. It wasn't at all attractive on the man. Nope, not even in the slightest.

"Only when you want something," she retorted. Now he grinned; there was mischief sparkling behind his eyes.

"You want me to be nice to you for the sake of it?" he asked. "I can do that. Totally do that. How about this? How about you look hot in that outfit?" Then, silently, he mouthed more; 'Though I prefer you in jeans and a T-Shirt', before half his lips curled into that grin of his. He knew full well she prided herself on her ability to read lips; the words were for her personally, they wouldn't go over the comms to the senior agents outside.

That fact made Kensi redden, and she buried her face in her glass again to keep Deeks from seeing. The outfit she wore now – tiny, sky-blue denim shorts with calf-high brown boots; a loose fit white shirt with a plunging neckline that showed more cleavage than she liked (especially with the push-up black lace bra beneath); more jangly bands than she felt her arm could comfortably carry; large golden hooped earrings; and her hair loose and wavy – were not something she'd have picked herself. Especially the shorts. It was apparently the fashion with some sectors of society, and she wasn't sure if she hated it more than the tiny black dresses Hetty usually poured her into for these operations. Well, hate was a strong word, but she much preferred the casual jeans and shirt approach, and the fact that Deeks seemed to like it too was shocking. And more than just a little bit pleasing.

_Stop it woman_, she thought, banishing the flush. Aloud, she said; "You're a pig." But she put something else into her eyes, a thank you, hoping that Deeks would read it there.

From the slightly quick startled look on his face, swiftly replaced by a genuine, warm smile, he did read it. He shrugged, like his words had been the most obvious thing in the world. Then, his expression shifted; suddenly, he was no longer Joker Deeks. In his place stood Serious Business Deeks. He jutted his chin towards the booth where St James sat, and Kensi craned her neck for a view.

Serious Business Deeks said, "Looks like our new friend had to use the men's room. St James is alone."

"_This is your chance, Kens,"_ said Callen, voice electronically distorted in their ears._ "You know the plan, Deeks?"_

Deeks sighed. "Yeah," he said, forlornly. He wasn't going to like what happened next. Kensi, on the other hand, was relishing the opportunity to…

She gave a sharp intake of breath. Nothing else existed in the whole universe for her, right at that moment; the bar, the people, the noise, all of it faded into meaningless background.

_His hand is on my ass._

She should have expected this. The man had no shame at all. They'd just had a real, honest-to-God, actual moment, and now this? Yeah, he knew what was coming, knew the plan. So she should have expected him to make it worth his while. And she knew – she just knew – that if she said anything about it, he'd simply brush it off as being 'method.' _Marty Deeks and his being method! Well, not this time, mister, _she thought. Slowly, she turned back to him, locking her eyes on the deep ocean blue of his, taking in his cocky look. Her jaw set, eyebrow arched. But there was something else that she layered behind her eyes, behind her whole stance; a challenge.

Deeks didn't flinch, didn't pull away, though his expression was clear; he had not expected this at all. Had not expected to still have his hand resting gently at the top of her butt. Then, his eyes darkened, and it was his turn to harden his face. She'd challenged him, and now he had risen – _Poor word choice, Kensi. Don't look down, don't look down_; _whatever you do, don't look at his crotch_ – to that challenge.

"_Kensi, time to move,"_ ordered Sam over their earpieces. Both Kensi and Deeks ignored it, their eyes entwined. His fingers began to move, gently, rolling and stroking against the denim of her ridiculously short shorts. Squeezing. Shards of lightening flickered forth from the point of contact, arcing across her body. It was getting hotter now, her body temperature rising in jumps, skyrocketing with each soft kneading of his fingers.

Her lips parted, and it took all she had not to close her eyes and groan. No, she wasn't going to be the one to react this time. She wasn't going to be the one to…

"_Kensi? Something wrong?" _asked Callen.

She tried not to think about how perfectly Deeks' palm seemed to fit against the rolling curve of her cheek. Especially when his hand began to trail slowly lower, until it was cupping the bottom of her – well, the bottom of her bottom. Gingerly, he caressed her. But still their eyes were locked in determined rebellion, though Deeks wore an oddly pleased smile. She wished that the same grin wasn't plastered on her own features, but she knew deep down that it was. God, it was getting hard to breathe. She could smell all of him now; the strong scent of man; the hint of strawberry from his shampoo; the faint trace of sea water, still there despite all the showers he'd taken today. With great difficulty, she resisted the urge to flick her gaze down to his lips, knowing that if she did that, she would pull him close and claim them as her own. And she wanted to; her whole body ached with the desire to press her lips against his.

Then, his eyes darkened more, tightened into slits. She could literally see him trembling; feel the heart in his chest thud out a rapid rhythm that was matched by her own. Boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom. His hand began to drift, almost lazily towards the centre of her legs, fingers spreading warmth everywhere they went. Inching, unstoppable like a glacier, towards the soft and rapidly dampening spot between her thighs. It was his final play, she knew that. His last ditch, desperate attempt to make her be the one to break. And she knew that she didn't have the power to stop him even if she'd wanted to.

She moaned, silently, as fingers skimmed tentatively close to her folds.

"_Window's closing, Kens,"_ said Sam into her ear. His voice was desperate, concerned.

_Dammit. _With a shiver, Kensi forced herself to close her eyes and exhaled a long breath. Then her hands came up, feeling the strength in Deeks's chest through his shirt, and she pushed him back a pace, instantly missing the warmth of his palm against her. She gave him a wicked grin, winking devilishly, before her features twisted into anger.

Then her drink was arching through the air, to splash against Deeks' cocky grin, drenching his untamed hair.

"Jerk," she snapped, before turning around on her heel and storming across the bar towards St James' booth.

Behind her, she heard Deeks mutter something like "Bitch," but knowing that he was purely in-character. She also knew she'd garnered a great deal of attention from the other patrons with her actions, and could feel hundreds of eyes on her as she crossed the room. Even St James, eyes dark and wicked, watched her as she neared him, before flopping herself down at the booth opposite him.

"Men," she exclaimed loudly. "You're all pigs."

"Not all of us," said St James, eyes dancing briefly over her. Assessing her. Kensi was impressed; his accent was smooth, flawless. There was no hint of French in him, nothing that would have set of her Spidey Sense and cause her to react in a way that made her partner talk gingerly around her for a few days. "Why don't I get you a fresh drink?" he asked, not even bothering to wait for her reply before hailing down a passing waitress.

* * *

Deeks leant forwards against the bar, nursing his beer, watching as thin beads of condensation slowly crawled their way down the bottle, and waited. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realised that he had shredded the label from the drink. He hoped it wasn't true, what that was supposed to signify. He couldn't even be bothered to try hitting on any of the girls in the bar to pass the time, though he wasn't sure if that was simply because he knew he had no shot now that they'd all seen Kensi dump her drink over him, or for some other reason. He'd managed to dry off most of the drink from his face and hair, though there was still a damp patch around the collar of his T-shirt. Every now and then, he tossed a baleful glare over his shoulder to where Kensi sat, giggling and flirting with St James, pretending to still be hurt and outraged by her public actions.

A simple word from St James had sent his companion away a half hour prior, as soon as the other man had returned from the bathroom. Unfortunately, he hadn't used the stranger's name, so they couldn't get a clue as to his identity from that. Deeks had, however, managed to swipe one of his empty glasses from one of the busboys, before it could be washed, and it was now out with Sam and Callen; any prints they could lift from it no doubt already buzzing their way to Nell and Eric. The drinks St James had offered had come thick and fast, though thankfully they'd all been served by Audrey Michaels, who ensured that not one drop of alcohol had reached Kensi's glass. The drunken, flighty act his partner was putting on – laughing at the man's jokes and resting her hand across his biceps – was just that; an act. It still amazing him how easily she could slip into a role. Kensi, the woman who stumbled and stammered so much every time she tried to tell a flat out lie to his face that it was positively endearing.

Still, every word she said, every coo'd comment, reached him through the bud in his ear. Deeks tried not to be jealous.

_I mean_, he thought, _it's not like she's my girlfriend. She's my…_

The words trailed off. What? Partner? Best friend? Maybe more? It was that 'maybe' that was the difficult spot. Their thing had become less defined, more complicated and certainly more exciting since this morning, when she'd accidentally let slip – despite her best protestations to the contrary – that she'd dreamt of kissing him. Well, that put at least one in her ledger; compare and contrast the hundreds in his, ever since he'd met 'Tracey' all those years ago.

And he was pushing it, pushing the boundaries of this new game they'd slipped into. Because… well, because he wanted it. God, did he want it. He could still feel the soft touch of denim on his hand, the supple firmness of her rear beneath. Just the mere thought of it hitched his breath in his lungs. There had never been another woman like Kensi in his life; he hadn't even known they really existed before her. And as strange, as miraculous, as it might seem, he knew the feeling was mutual. But it seemed like every time they started to draw closer, something would drive them apart, put a wedge in the fragile trust they had steadily built up.

"I don't know how you can manage that," came a woman's voice at his side. He turned his head; Audrey stood by him, a tray of drinks in her hand. She glanced briefly over at Kensi and St James. "Seeing her act like that, given how you feel about her."

"_What?"_ Sam's chuckle echoed through the earpiece. "_Did we just hear that right?"_ Across the room, Kensi spat out her drink with a racking cough. St James slapped her a few times across the back, asking her if she was okay.

Meanwhile, Deeks' eyes had gone wide, and he felt his flesh turn white as a sheet. He scrambled his hand up, quickly pulling the earpiece from its resting place. He held it in his palm, out for Audrey to see, then closed a gentle fist around it, hoping it would muffle the device enough.

"Kensi's a big girl," he said, to Audrey. "And one hell of a tough Agent. She can look after herself. Things like this… we've both had to do them a hundred times before today to get the bad guys, and we'll do them a hundred after. It's just part-and-parcel of the job, and I wouldn't stop her from doing it even if I wanted to. And, if I did want to, she'd just do it anyway and then kick me in the shins later for trying to stop her."

The corner of Audrey's mouth twitched into a smile, and she rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It must have torn Dom up inside to have to lie all the time around me," she said, a little sadly.

"When feelings are involved, when you're with someone you truly care about," he replied, "it's the hardest thing in the world. But they're the choices we make to do the things we do."

Audrey nodded. "Don't worry; I just know you two'll figure it out."

"Thanks," Deeks said. He honestly didn't know what else there was to say.

He watched as Audrey made her way back towards the bar, before replacing the bud in his ear, in time to hear the tail end of what was undoubtedly a steady stream of jibes from Callen;_ "…voice on talk radio that time."_

"_I really hope he's not telling people they're a couple again,"_ said Sam. _"I don't think he could walk right for a week after the last time."_

"_I thought it was two weeks?"_ replied Callen.

Deeks shook his head wryly, and let their words wash over him. He couldn't protest, not with any degree of truth to his words. And besides, anything he did say would only spur them on to greater and more elaborate heights of mocking. Instead, he leaned forward against the bar, and tried to concentrate on Kensi's side of the conversation. She, too, had zoned out the other two Agents, and was continuing her work with St James, though a quick glance over his shoulder showed him that her cheeks had gotten red. Her act got drunker, but she still managed to slip in a few bread crumbs regarding an ex-boyfriend who worked in the Long Beach Naval base, which was why she liked coming to this bar, the people were friendly and she knew them, but she'd had enough of dating sailors. St James bit at the dangling bait, showing clear interest.

Ten minutes later, Callen had heard enough. _"Okay, Kens, that'll do. We've got enough. Now, get him outside, so we can have a nice little chat with him."_

Deeks heard Kensi make the proposition to head somewhere more private to St James, wishing he didn't wish it were to him; a moment later the pair rose, heading towards the front doors. Deeks watched them go from the corner of his eye, before draining the last of his beer.

* * *

Sam leant forward in the driver's seat, raising the binoculars to his eyes and focussing on the front door of Mason's Place. Seconds ticked by.

"What's taking them so long?" he asked.

"Maybe Kensi had to grab her coat?" replied Callen.

"_What are you guys talking about?"_ Deeks voice cut through, quivering with concern. "_Is she not out yet? They left, like, two minutes ago."_

"Oh, hell," breathed Callen. Sam was already reaching for the door handle.

* * *

_This is not happening,_ thought Deeks. _Not happening, not happening._

He raced backwards and forward across the bar, darting aside and around other patrons, ignoring their protesting shouts. His eyes swarmed over every inch of the establishment, hoping against hope that the pair had simply moved to another table, but already knowing that they hadn't. He pressed his finger against his ear, forcing the earpiece close, straining to hear any sound from her.

"Kensi," he said into it, not even able to keep the tremble from his voice. The pleading. "Kensi, I need you to answer me. Kensi? Sunshine, please!"

Silence greeted him.

He continued on, racing through the building, until he burst through the main doors, spilling back out into the night air. His head swam with unease as he tracked from side to side, heart throbbing like a racehorse against his chest, desperate for a glimpse of that gorgeous brown hair.

Instead, all that met him was the sight of Sam and Callen, wearing matching worried looks as they both exited the Charger.

No St James.

And no Kensi.

* * *

Eric hit answer before the phone had even rung once.

"_Eric,"_ Callen said, clearly not even having time for a greeting. _"We've lost Kensi. I need you to locate any cameras outside Mason's Place, and find her."_

"On it," was Eric's simple reply. He could hear the anxious tone in Callen's voice, and reacted with the same concern. One of his friends was in danger, and he would move heaven and Earth to find her. There was the briefest of pauses, as he worked frantically on the system before him. Within seconds, video sprang to life from a red light camera half a block away. Kensi and a man – St James probably but it was difficult to make out since he kept himself turned from the screen. The man had his arm locked tight around Kensi's, pulling her.

"Okay, I got her, and it looks like St James. They were both heading into the multi-story car park about a block away from you."

"_What the hell?"_ said Callen. _"What is she going in there for?"_

"I don't think she had much of a choice, Callen," Eric replied, catching a glimpse of something metallic in the man's free hand. "St James is armed. He's made her."

* * *

"Audrey," shouted Deeks as he raced back into the bar. "There another way out of here?"

The woman stopped taking a couple's order, and turned to look at him. She read the worry and fear on his features as easily as if she were reading a book. "What..?" she began.

"Is there another way out of here?" Deeks repeated himself.

"Uh, yeah, there's a side exit," she replied, pointing off towards the back of the bar area, to a small door that proudly proclaimed itself to be for Employees Only.

Deeks raced to it, bursting it open with one swiftly aimed kick. It led into the kitchen, where several cooks stopped their work and turned foul language on the LAPD detective. Deeks ignored it, rushing through as quickly as he could, and out through the smaller door at the far end.

He stopped, glancing up and down the tight alleyway. There, to the left; the car park Eric had last spotted Kensi entering. Moments later, Deeks was there, breath already ragged from the manic pace and the rising panic. He drew to a halt, slipping his police-issue Berretta from its resting place behind his jeans. Steadily, weapon up and pointed out, he entered the thick-walled, grey concrete building.

"_Deeks, wait for us."_ The voice of Sam burst over his earpiece. Deeks ignored it. All that mattered was finding Kensi.

The ground floor was empty, save a few cars; at this hour, most people had left work, for their own homes. Only a few poor sobs were probably still working, rushing to meet deadlines they had either forgotten or just plain procrastinated. Deeks knew a little about that. Blue eyes glanced left and right, seeking deep into the long dark shadows, peering under vehicles for a sign of his partner. Convinced the floor was clear, Deeks steadily made his way up the ramp to the next.

It was just as quiet up here too. Quite like the grave. The only sound was that of Deeks' own breathing, rattling with his concern, and the deep thump of his heart, loud and throbbing to his own ears.

Another floor empty of Kensi and St James, Deeks continued up. He reached the fourth floor when the voices in his ear informed him that Callen and Sam – diverted by needing to round the bar rather than having gone right through it like he did – had just reached the entrance to the car park. Still, he had no time to wait for them. Every second Kensi was alone with St James was another second that she could be dead. He shouldn't have let her go without him, should have had her back, should have been right on St James' heels when they left. It's what partners should do. Hell, it's what friends would do. He set his jaw, trying to force down the mounting panic that bubbled in the pit of his gut. It tasted of bile on his tongue.

Deeks crested the ramp, back into the night sky of the top floor. Slowly, he turned around, handgun training before him. Like the other floors, this one had only a faint scattering of cars. Though unlike the others, several sections of the surrounding walls were missing, left open to the LA sky with only a metallic chain as a preventative. He heard the sound of car horns and sirens, far below him, the general hubbub of city life, but so very distant, mingling with the cries of gulls from the nearby ocean.

And then he heard a voice, sharp and shouted, carried by the breeze; "…you work for?"

Deeks span, racing forwards towards the source, rounding the small box-like room that was no doubt used for storage, fuse boards and other odds and ends. And saw her, backed up, hands in the air. St James was before her, an M1191 Colt in his hands and pointed right at her head.

"I said who do you work for?" The American accent had gone now, the masked façade removed and replaced with St James' French pronunciation.

Kensi didn't reply, just held her jaw tight and jutted forward. She wouldn't give the man anything; she wasn't even going to pretend that she didn't know what he was talking about. But St James's eyes had the look of a killer; Deeks had seen that look in gang bangers enough during his time as a beat cop to not recognise it instantly.

"Freeze," shouted Deeks, his own piece aimed directly at St James, centre mass. "LAPD!"

He expected the man to turn, to be surprised, to react in an aggressive manner, to open fire. He didn't expect the man to suddenly dart forward, crossing the distance in less time than it took to tell, grabbing Kensi by the slender throat, putting her body before his and placing the barrel of his Colt against her temple.

"Put the gun down," said Deeks, firmly, making it a command. "Don't make me shoot you."

And again, to his infinite surprise, St James just laughed. "So, Los Angeles Police, is it? This pretty little one did not want to tell me who she worked for; thank you very much for the information."

"Put the gun down," repeated Deeks, eyes fierce."I don't like people pointing guns at her head; it makes me very, very angry, and their life expectancy very, very short."

"Just shoot him, Deeks," snapped Kensi.

St James smiled. It reminded Deeks of one of those cartoon sharks he'd seen on a movie poster once, only without any of the charm.

"Deeks," repeated St James. "LAPD. You know, detective – I am right that you're a detective? Good. Anyway, detective, you might want to rethink your strategies in future, when you are trying to get close to a suspect, it might not be such a good idea for you to spend so long with your hand on your partner's delectable derrière."

With another smile, St James rolled his hips, brushing the front of his pants against Kensi's rear. Kensi gave a strangled cry, torn between outrage and shock.

"I swear to God you better shoot him, Deeks," she said, more forcefully.

"Ah, _non_, the detective isn't going to shoot me tonight," said St James, breathing the words into Kensi's ear. "Not with your delightful figure in the way. Such sweet curves. You know, when he spent so long softly caressing you before you became enraged, my suspicions were aroused." He gave another bump with his hips against Kensi, his grin splitting wide and predatory. "A suspicion that was confirmed, little lamb, when you made directly for my table. So, of course, I let you lead me where you wanted in the conversation. As soon as I knew what you were after, I needed to know who it was that you worked for. You can thank your partner here for providing that information. It will be most useful to my employer."

"You're not going anywhere," stated Deeks. "Back-up is seconds behind me."

"I think not. I think that I shall get away. Because I am going to do… this."

With his last word, he span Kensi out and away from him, throwing her roughly to the ground. Her own momentum kept her going, tumbling towards the edge of the roof. Deeks was already rushing forward in a heartbeat. But he knew he wouldn't be fast enough, knew the distance was too great, but he knew he had to try anyway. She disappeared from sight, over the rough lip, and his cry tore at his lungs.

"KENSI!"


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N – **Okay. So, uh… wow. I totally had that cliffhanger plotted before I got around to watching the Castle season finale. I've just had to pause the show so I can do this Author's Note, before I've even finished writing the whole chapter. It was totally coincidental, I swear. I guess great minds think alike, and all that, right?**  
Disclaimer** – Hetty would like me to point out that I do not own any character from NCIS Los Angeles. She was most persistent in this request, and I kinda got the impression I should do as she asked. So here it goes; I don't own any of the characters from NCIS Los Angeles.

* * *

When she'd woken up this morning, she hadn't expected this. Hadn't expected to be made. Hadn't expected François St James to pull a gun on her, force her from the bar and up the multistory car park. Force her to remove the earpiece he already knew she wore. She hadn't expected his ploy for escape was to throw her bodily across the roof, hadn't expected to tumble and roll.

Hadn't expected the unthinkable to happen.

Time seemed to crawl to a slow; each fraction of an inch that passed seemed to take a lifetime. She became acutely aware of everything around her. She could feel the rough and gritty concrete that made the floor. Could smell salt, carried on the breeze from of the nearby ocean. She saw St James, already moving away from them. And could see Deeks, alarm on his face and her name on his lips, as he raced towards her.

The ground disappeared beneath her like a gaping chasm, and Kensi felt the air open up as her body crested the lip. Madly, her hands flashed out, catching the course edge of the roof, her chest slamming hard into the hard wall, sending the air blasting from her lungs. The concrete lip was sharp, like the blade of a dagger, cutting into soft flesh of her palm.

Her relief was short lived. Even as she watched, the concrete crumbled, and her fingers lost their grip. For a moment, it seemed like gravity had forgotten her existence. It felt like she hung there, unable to move, above the emptiness.

The hard and merciless ground loomed hungrily so far below her, threatening to surge upwards and claim her as its own. It would not be a pretty death, the tiniest part of her – the part not awash with pure terror – knew; a long and unstoppable plummet, followed by a stiff and assured end at the bottom, bones and body broken.

Then gravity remembered her, and she began to fall. Her arms and legs swam impotently around her, and she finally screamed; a hoarse and fearful cry of pure, unadulterated terror.

Suddenly, she felt a firmness around one wrist, and her plunge halted, the momentum crashing her back against the thick external wall of the building. The joints of her arm stung; the sudden halt had almost pulled her shoulder from its socket. Her legs and other arm dangled loosely below her like lead weights, threatening to drag her loose from whatever had stopped her plummet. She pulled her gaze up from them, and saw him above her. Deeks. Sat back in a squat, strain showing on his face, both his hands clamped tightly around her wrist.

"I got you," he growled.

Emotion caught up with her, forcing a hardness into her breathing, demanding that her heart thump in her chest as fast as a piston engine. She gritted her teeth, letting out a grunt, and swung up her heavy free hand, fingers grasping the edge of the roof once more.

"Just leave me, Deeks," cried Kensi. "I got this, I'm good!"

As if giving her lie form, her fingers slipped free from their purchase, limply flailing below her once more.

"No," he snapped at her, refusing to release her hand. His muscles strained; it wasn't that Kensi was heavy, but even her slender frame, dangled over the lip of the building, was difficult to hold. Sweat beaded his forehead, dripping down on the hard concrete below him, and he gritted his teeth.

"Deeks," she shouted again. "I said I've got this; get after St James."

"Nope," he said again, putting as much sternness into his voice as he could manage. "Not gonna happen. I am not leaving you, Kensi. You hear me?"

Their eyes met, and he finally saw acceptance bloom there. Acceptance, and trust. Her free hand reached up again, this time grabbing him around the wrist. Together, they hauled and pulled, and Kensi inched slowly and painfully upwards – her feet scrambling against the walls in a search for purchase – until she crested the lip. They rolled from the edge and collapsed together in an exhausted pile of limbs, each on their backs. Kensi's head was on Deeks' abdomen, and she could feel the ragged rise and fall of his lungs, and the deep throb of his heartbeat.

A moment passed, as they both stared, unseeing, at the dark sky above them. Kensi was sure that she'd never seen the stars so bright before, or the moon so full and wondrous. It felt good to be alive.

"Plus," said Deeks, around pants of laboured breath, "I could totally see down your top."

Without even thinking about it, she drove the point of her elbow hard into the small ribs at his side, getting a satisfactory "Oof" as the last of the air exploded from his lungs. But he continued to laugh around the racking that sputtered from his mouth.

She rolled onto her belly, lying across his broad chest and catching contact with the endless blue of eyes again. Despite the rasping of his breath, he wore a wide grin. And something else, floating behind his eyes, something she didn't want to think about too much, because she was fairly certain that it was mirrored in her own. He reached up, brushing her hair out of her face. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips gently against his, briefly and softly, before pulling back. "Thank you," she whispered at him, before climbing off his body with a greater deal of effort than it should have taken.

She stood, glancing off towards the now-deserted car park, shaking her head.

"Yeah," she heard Deeks say behind her, around a sputtering of coughs. "Totally worth it."

Kensi couldn't help but smile. Then she turned serious, dialling her phone. It was answered almost instantly; "Callen? Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. You got eyes on?"

The reply came back negative. Lost him_._

* * *

Early morning sunlight flooded into the Spanish Mission, bathing the OSP with a warm orange glow. Callen was already hard at work when Kensi arrived, bringing with her coffee and glazed donuts from her favourite bakery a couple of blocks from her house. Sometimes it seemed like the man didn't sleep at all. After a brief greeting between the two, and an assurance that she was fine following her spill from the building, Callen turned his attention back to the paperwork on his desk, searching for a clue that would hopefully blow the case wide open for the team.

It was certainly a difficult one. Kensi couldn't seem to see the link between Adrian Anderson's group, and the office of Lt Saunders, or the death of Agent Guerrero. Nothing added up, and every fresh lead just made it that much more confusing. Even the unknown man with St James the evening before was just another mysterious fly in the enigma ointment.

A few minutes later, Sam arrived, and Kensi was once again forced to reassure him of her mental wellbeing. It was a lie, but probably not for the reasons the two men may have guessed. She tried to work, but was find it difficult to concentrate. Kept zoning out, staring off into space. The night's sleep had been complicated. She'd expected nightmares, imagined she would have a restless night dreaming of the ground opening up beneath her and slipping away. That had happened, though not as much as she'd feared.

Instead, she'd mainly dreamt of Mason's Place; of Deeks' hand, drifting down her butt, closer and closer to her centre. Only, in the dream, there had been no other people about, and she hadn't been forced to stop him by the urgency of the case they were working. When she'd finally awoken, around dawn, her hand had been on the slick wetness between her thighs. _Note to self_, she thought. _Punch Deeks hard for this when you get the chance. It's all his fault._ She hadn't gone back to sleep, had been more than a little nervous to do so, afraid of what her subconscious mind might present to her.

Her conscious mind was bad enough, acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. Over Deeks, of all people. _Deeks!_ Still, she was certainly nervous to see him. She didn't know what their new game meant, where it was leading. And a small part of her – _a very small part, minuscule even, thank you very much_ – was anxious to find out. She would have said her brush with death the night before had changed the way she looked at him, but that wasn't exactly the truth, now was it?

Since she'd already been up, she'd taken a brief run, then returned and used up all the hot water by taking a luxurious shower, letting the hot jets of water loosen all her muscles. Once her hair was dry, she styled it; light, wavy and bouncy, the way it was when she'd first met Jason Wyler. Then, even though she had only done them recently, she made sure her long legs were freshly shaved. Once she was convinced they were appropriately smooth and exotic, she slipped into a tight pair of black denim jeans. She'd slipped into a black lace bra, covering it with a figure hugging blue-checked shirt that she knew Deeks would enjoy. She'd hated herself for wearing it for him rather than herself, but somehow managed to convince herself it was only so she could continue to mess with him and make him uncomfortable as the day progressed.

Something caused her to look up from her blank monitor, back to the here-and-now; Sam was waving to get her attention. "Earth to Kensi," he said. "Earth to Kensi, you alright?"

"I'm fine," she replied, not even thinking. "Do we have anything new on Anderson?"

Callen shook his head. "Granger wants an update, as soon as he's here."

Kensi nodded, drumming her fingers on the desk before her for a moment. "So," she began, as casually as she could. "Anybody seen Deeks yet?"

Sam snorted with laughter. "Fat chance of that, this early. My money's on him still catching some waves."

"Oh, you'd lose that bet, Sam," said Callen, with a faint smile. "He was already here when I got in this morning. Working out, if you can believe it?"

Kensi's treacherous heart skipped a small beat. "He still there?"

Sam and Callen both turned identical looks on her. A moment later, Callen replied; "No, I think he was upstairs with Nell."

Kensi craned her neck towards Ops… in time to see Deeks making his way down the staircase, the short redhead at his side. Nell was saying something, quite animatedly, but the man didn't seem to be responding. Kensi was about to throw him a smile, send a greeting his way, but the words died in her throat. Something was wrong. There was something… off… about the man, and she couldn't –

There was no smile. That's what it was. His face wasn't split into its usual grin. It looked unnatural.

He stopped at his desk, nodding a greeting to the others, though she noticed that he didn't meet her eyes for long.

"Everything alright, Deeks?" asked Sam. "Not like you to be here early. Or even on time."

"Peachy," replied Deeks, head already buried in some paperwork.

"It's just you look a little outta sorts. Did you have dreams keeping you up all night like Kensi?"

_How did he…?_ Kensi thought, then realised; he'd meant the night before.

"I just wanted to get caught up on my paperwork, is all," replied the detective.

Kensi caught Sam and Callen's eyes, seeing the confusion there. This most certainly wasn't the usual Deeks.

Then Callen's face broke into a broad grin. "What about you, Kens? Any more dreams about kissing Deeks?"

"I did not dream about kissing Deeks," she replied, exasperated, but trying not to go red in the face. Still, she gave a glance over at her partner; he didn't even seem to be paying attention.

Sam stared at Deeks for a long moment. Finally, the other man turned to look at him. "Since you're feeling okay," began Sam, "when we get a moment, you and me're gonna have a long chat about waiting for backup."

Deeks nodded. "Can't wait," he sighed.

Nell was still standing before the group, listening to the conversation, fingers knotted before her but resting the indexes together. "Sorry to interrupt, guys," she said. "But Granger's ready for you,"

The group rose, Sam and Callen leading the way briskly up towards the darkened room. Kensi scurried to catch up with her partner. She placed a palm against his bicep, and he paused to turn to her.

"Everything okay?" she asked, tilting her head to one side with concern.

"I'm fine," he replied, a little gruffly, before turning back and continuing up.

_Oh, no you didn't_, Kensi thought, but before she could protest his choice of words, he disappeared into the room.

Feeling more than a little hurt and confused, Kensi followed after him.

* * *

"Tell me where we are," said Granger, once the team was all in attendance. Callen cast a glance towards his companions, taking them all in. Sam stood – well, _loomed_ was a better choice of word – by the middle console, arms folded over his chest. Kensi stood on the other side, her face knotted in confusion, and throwing small looks over her shoulder at her partner. And Deeks… Deeks stood in the corner, leaning casually against a desk. The detective's face was calm, impassive. Callen hadn't expected that; he had expected Kensi to be the one out of sorts today, after her experience the night before.

But Kensi seemed okay with herself, and it was her partner who was acting withdrawn. Perhaps the previous night's events had affected him more than Callen would have realised? Or perhaps he was just coming down with a virus? Nobody was at full physical health one hundred percent of the time. Not Deeks; not Kensi; not even Sam with all his vitamins and healthy eating.

He put it out of his mind, turning his attention to the Assistant Director before him. "Nowhere," he answered honestly. "At least, not anywhere significant. Yet. What we do know is that Fran_ç_ois St James, an associate of Adrian Anderson, is in Los Angeles. And he still seems to be interested in the Communications Office at Long Beach. Though why that is, we weren't able to ascertain. Even looking through Agent Guerrero's case file… It seems he wasn't any closer to figuring out why, though he was convinced that they held an interest. He also hadn't found any leaks in the office; didn't even suspect Saunders. Described him as 'too weak minded' to consider betraying this country. Though we don't even know if Saunders was a mole, or if he ran from us for some other reason."

"I can shed a little light there," said Eric, sliding his chair across the room and taking control of the console. A brief flash of fingers across the screen, and fresh data appeared on the large monitor. "I managed to pull some information off Saunders' home laptop; information relating to an offshore account. He'd been receiving regular payments over the past year, totalling just over three million dollars. Looking back at his financials, he wasn't in any desperate debt, or had more outgoings than incomings. I guess that's why he didn't raise Guerrero's suspicions."

"Any idea where the money was coming from?" asked Granger.

Eric shook his head. "I traced it as far as I could, but all I got was a shell company. That's where the trail ends; I'm not even sure who owns the company."

"But you think it safe to assume it was from St James?"

"I'd put money on it," said Sam. "We know that the death of Special Agent Guerrero wasn't an accident; not only was the kidnapping staged, but the man we suspect to be behind it was Raymond Carter. Another man with ties to Adrian Anderson. It's too much of a coincidence."

"Carter's not the only one here though," said Nell. "It took a long time, but we managed to get images of at least a dozen of Anderson's associates entering the Los Angeles area over the past three months, under falsified documents." Security footage, images of men and women walking through LAX, flashed onto the screen. "No sign of them having left."

"There's still no sign of Anderson himself either," said Deeks, from his darkened corner. "We suspect he is here though; Smith was hired by someone with an English accent, and no one else in the gang fits that description."

"We've got a BOLO out on Carter, but nothing has come in yet," added Kensi. "He looks like he might be a good lead to finding Agent Dorsett, since we're assuming they have him. And as for who St James' companion from last night was… we have no clues. Nothing came up on any of our searches."

She typed on the console, the picture she'd managed to take the previous night flashing up. Granger stared at it for a moment.

"Jamie Anderson," said the Assistant Director smoothly. "Adrian Anderson's younger brother. According to our records, he's still in London, and had nothing to do with his brother's illegal enterprises. I didn't think they'd even spoken since Adrian was arrested for treason."

"Jamie Anderson," repeated Nell, already working. "That'd be why we couldn't find him in our records. Okay, I got him. Flew in from the UK four days ago, his details are with their consulate. He's currently staying at the Los Angeles Hilton. Quite a nice suite, too. Pretty expensive, for an Estate Agent."

"Okay," said Callen, turning towards his team. "Sam and I will check out Jamie; he clearly knows St James well enough, so that indicates he knows more about his brother's business than we believed. If we sit on him, maybe he'll give us a lead towards Adrian."

"Try not to let him know you're there this time," warned Granger. "We don't want him to spook his brother."

The group began to head towards the door, when they slid open to reveal Hetty. The small woman made her way into Ops, her hands clasped behind her back. The foursome held back, letting Granger leave alone.

Long moments passed, as he eyed each of them in turn. Even Callen felt a little uncomfortable under her gaze.

Finally, she spoke. "Would someone like to tell me exactly what happened last night? How St James was able to escape when you had him in your sights?"

"We were made, Hetty," said Kensi, before anyone else could speak. "He only let me get as far as I did because he wanted to know what I knew, and who I worked for."

"And do you have any idea how he was able to ascertain this?" asked the older woman.

"It's my fault," said Deeks. The LAPD liaison dug his hands into his pockets, looking abashed. "I got distracted, wasn't in-character enough, and St James noticed. It won't happen again."

Idly, Callen wondered what Deeks had done to raise St James' suspicion so much.

"Make sure it doesn't Mr. Deeks," said Hetty.

"It won't," replied Deeks, visibly withering under the glare.

* * *

They exited Ops; Sam, Callen and Deeks taking the lead. Kensi held back a little, allowing Nell to fall into step.

"How's things?" she asked the Analyst.

"Okay," replied Nell, drawing out the vowels of the word in her own unique Nell way. "And you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. So, anyway, enough small talk; what were you and Deeks talking about?"

Kensi would have missed the almost imperceptible half smile on Nell's face if she hadn't been looking for it. "Oh, nothing really. Just this and that, you know. Work stuff."

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing else," replied Nell. "Oh, hey, I just heard that there's gonna be a monster truck derby next month. You wanna make a girl's night of it again?"

Kensi, being a master of the art, noted the subject change with interest. But she smiled instead; she enjoyed spending time with the other woman. It was… it was nice, to be a little girly, after spending so many hours a week in the testosterone-filled world of an NCIS Agent. Okay, so maybe monster trucks weren't what most people would instantly think of when you talked about 'girly', but then again, most people probably hadn't even been to one so they couldn't talk.

"I'd like that," she said. "Maybe we should ask some of the other female Agents if they want to come?"

Nell's face broke into a wider grin. "That'd be so cool. I'll ask about and speak to you later."

Kensi said her goodbyes, bounding down the stairs. Sam and Callen were in the process of grabbing their gear to depart. Deeks was… well, Deeks was back at his paperwork. Kensi's sudden buoyant mood deflated and she slumped down into her chair.

"What kept you?" asked Callen.

"Oh, I was just talking to Nell. Private stuff," she replied, still looking at Deeks. Her eyes narrowed, wikedly. "We were just organising a girl's night out. Just us women. Alone. Together."

"That sounds nice," said Deeks, not even looking up. His voice was dry, emotionless.

Kensi's jaw dropped. _What? That's it?_ She sent up a perfectly pitched lop, and he didn't even take a swing at it?

With a shake of her head, Kensi stood. She caught Callen's eye, and nodded, once. Then she crossed the small bullpen area, to stand directly next to her partner's desk. At first he didn't acknowledge her presence, focussing instead on the paper in front of him; a report related to a case so cold, Kensi was surprised the file wasn't covered in permafrost. Deeks' pen hovered just above the sheet, quivering slightly. Finally, he sighed, putting the paperwork down, and turning towards her. His face remained an impassive mask. On Deeks, it just looked… wrong. It was weird that she already missed his lupine grin.

Their eyes locked, and Kensi poured determination into her brown orbs. Taking him by the hand – feeling the contradictory coarseness of his skin and the suppleness of whatever hand lotion he used – she roughly tugged against his arm, pulling him up. The set of her face said everything she needed to; _Shut up, and come with me._

She could feel the confused look on Sam and Callen's face as she hauled Deeks – straining to shift his weight – through the building, but she didn't care; she'd already had enough of whatever it was that had affected her partner's mood this way.

He let her lead him into the burn room, his own eyes just a little bit puzzled by her behaviour. As she closed the door behind him, she placed her hands on her hips, maintaining eye contact. His soft blue eyes wavered a moment, before he glanced away towards the large oven used to incinerate classified documents.

"Okay," she said, feeling the roughness of her own voice. "What's with you today?"

"I'm fine," he muttered, still not looking back at her.

"Fine?" she repeated, arching an eyebrow. "Right, 'cause we all know how well you buy that when I say it."

He pushed his hands into his jeans pocket. "No, seriously, Kensi, I'm okay."

"You're not okay," she contested. "You've not smiled all morning. It's actually unnerving. What happened to the guy who told me that he was three hundred and sixty five days of fun? Did he take a vacation today or something?"

"I'm just doing my job." His words were distant, as emotionless as his face. "Like I should have been last night."

"What?" she said, blinking in surprise.

Deeks closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath through his nose. Time seemed to drag on. She considered asking him what he meant, but realised he needed to gather his thoughts. Needed to settle within him whatever it was eating at his clearly troubled mind. "It's – It's my fault," he said after a moment, voice breaking with strain. "I didn't give it much thought at the time, what St James said. But last night… I just couldn't get it out of my head. That it was my fault. My fault you almost died. I was so busy playing grab-ass that St James made us, and it almost got you killed."

"What?" she said again. Then, she felt the heat rising in her, and she stepped forward, jamming a finger against his chest as hard as she could. Through gritted teeth she said, "Who the hell do you think you are?"

Surprised by her venom, Deeks took a half step back, his confusion writ clear on his features, but she kept in pace with him.

"I asked you a question, Deeks," she continued, eyes burrowing into him. "Who do you think you are, to control my actions? What makes you think you have the right to be _responsible_ for my actions? You were not the only person there last night; I was too, and I knew exactly what you were doing. I could have stopped it, and I didn't, so it is not all your fault. I was the one dangling off a building, by the way. That wasn't exactly fun for me, and I'll probably need to talk to Nate about it if he ever shows up again. But we're partners, Deeks; we're both grownups, and that means we share the responsibility for this."

Deeks eyes were wide with shock, trying to pull his head back from her verbal barrage. After a moment, she calmed, removing her hand from his chest.

"Okay?" she asked, voice softer now.

He nodded gingerly. "Okay," he replied.

"Good. Now, do I have my partner back or are you going to continue moping all day?"

"I don't mope." Deeks's response was automatic, and he smiled. It wasn't his usual smile, still a little wan, but it was a start.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a tight, brief, squeeze. "And I'm fine, by the way. Thanks for asking."

He shook his head ruefully, grin getting bigger. "Sorry," he said. "Anyone ever told you how cute you are when you're angry?"

"Yeah," she said, pretending to roll her eyes. "You do. All the time."

"Hmmm," he replied, more of the real Deeks coming back every second. "I must mean it then."

She couldn't help the small smile that flashed over her lips. Then, she sighed. "Whatever this thing is, that we've been doing the last couple of days, we need to stop it when it affects a case. Okay?"

He nodded, though it was almost reluctantly. This time, Kensi managed to stop the smile, though it was with some great difficulty. He was pouting beautifully again. Okay, okay, so she did find it cute on him. He clearly hadn't caught the condition she'd added at the end. _Time to change that, _she thought, stepping close to him so that their faces were inches apart. Her breath became husky, and she swallowed. "That doesn't mean the game is over," she clarified. Now it was his turn to blink in surprise.

Then, feeling especially brazen, she moved forward more, until their lips were mere inches apart. She could smell all of him again, the deep musk that was all just Marty Deeks. It was intoxicating, heady, and made her thoughts swim. It took everything in her power to not cross those last few inches, to not press herself against him and devour him. She could hear his breathing become shallow, ragged. She glanced down at his lips, found them parted, and softly tugged at her own bottom lip with her teeth. Kensi looked back up, into Deeks' clear eyes – a fine grey now, due to the lighting of the room – seeing a tremble there, and a raw need that no doubt matched her own. Her whole body began to hum, feeling a surge of adrenaline and excitement that threatened to wash over her.

With a great deal of difficulty, she opened her mouth, breathing the next words out; "That also means I have no intention of letting you win."

And suddenly, she forced herself backwards, turning around and marching out of the room before her knees gave way. Behind her, she heard Deeks' lament. "Oh, come on," he moaned. "That's not fair."

Another smile found her lips, though it hitched the air slightly in her lungs.

"That's not fair at all!"

* * *

Callen leant back in his chair as Kensi re-entered the bullpen, followed a moment later by Deeks. Both Junior Agents looked a little flustered, but – with the exception of Deeks – their hair didn't look out of place. _But that,_ he added, _is probably because Deeks' hair is always out of place_. He was pleased to note that the detective seemed in a better mood; whatever had taken place in the Burn Room had clearly shaken him from his funk.

Across from him, he could see Sam about to make a comment, but then wisely chose to keep it to himself.

Callen's keen investigative mind concluded that Kensi and Deeks hadn't been kissing*. _Though_, he amended, _it does seem like it's only a matter of time_.

And when they did? Well, as Team Leader, he'd have to cross that bridge when he came to it.

* * *

**Secondary A/N –** *As a writer, I despise my choice of words in this sentence. As a fan, the childishness makes me squee, so it's staying.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N –** Man, this took longer to write than I imagined. Hope it's worth the wait. I've tried to reply personally to all the feedback I've received for this story, but if I missed you – or you did it as a guest – then thanks for reading, and for all your comments. They mean a lot to me.  
**Disclaimer –** As usual, I fail to own any characters from NCIS Los Angeles.

* * *

"I really don't like this place," said Callen, folding his newspaper carefully and smoothing out the crease. "It's too upscale for me. I feel like I stand out like a sore thumb."

Sam looked about him, taking in the rich lobby of the Hilton. Bright, shiny, cream marble pillars and floor, with light wooden inlay walls; it was an airy and spacious area, more upscale than most of the places they staked out. The two senior Agents, dressed in casual but tasteful business suits – forced upon them by Hetty when she discovered where they would be for the next few hours, along with a so-far ignored order to try the tea there; it was, according to the older woman, worth the room price alone – were sat around a small table, overlooking the lower reception area that was accessible by a T-shaped, carpeted, staircase. From here, they were afforded a good view of both the entrance, and the elevators, and glanced regularly between the two, on the lookout for Jamie Anderson or anyone else from the file.

"What's'a'matter, G?" asked Sam. "This place getting on your delicate Street sensibilities?"

"No," replied his partner. "I'm not saying that. But if you wanted to say it…"

Sam shook his head fondly; Callen could be so stubborn at times. "You're like a bulldog with a bone in its mouth," he said. "You just won't let go of anything, will you?"

"I could change the subject, you know, if you'd like?"

"I would," replied Sam.

"Easy. You just have to admit I've got enough Street in me that people notice it."

Sam snorted a laugh, earning a few disapproving and snooty looks from nearby residents. "Okay, G, you win. You're very Street."

Callen threw his arms wide. "No, no, no, don't do that. Don't placate me; you know how much I hate that."

"Well, I can't say it now. It's just sound like I'm saying it cause you want to hear it, and not cause it may or may not be the truth."

Callen's eyes narrowed, as he worked out the logic of that. "Fine," he said finally. "But don't think this conversation is over. It's not, not by a long shot."

The partners lapsed into a casual silence, Callen returning to his newspaper, while Sam shot off a quick text message to his wife to inform her that he would, indeed, remember to pick up milk on the way home. He then settled back into the high-backed chair.

Moments passed, and he felt himself getting restless. It was hard, sitting around, when every nerve and instinct within him – trained and honed by years as a SEAL – was ready for action.

"Is this guy even here?" he asked, craning his neck to get a look at the elevators, willing them to open and reveal someone of interest.

"We'll just have to wait and see," replied Callen, not glancing up from the paper.

"We don't have to," said Sam.

"Can't exactly walk up to the front desk and ask if he's here, Sam; not if we want to keep a low profile. And that's not even taking into account the fact that they wouldn't tell us anyway."

Sam nodded, sighing. Then, an idea struck him. "We don't have to do that," he said, pulling his cell out again. He scrolled through the details, until he found what he was looking for, and hit dial.

From the reception desk, he could hear ringing.

A moment later, his call was answered. _"Good morning, Hilton Los Angeles, David speaking, how may I help you?"_ Sam glanced over his shoulder again, seeing a stick thin youth with a fop of reddish-brown hair, a landline pressed to his ear.

Sam requested to be put through to the room number that Eric had been able to source.

"_One moment please,"_ said David, and Sam could hear the click of a connection. Seconds later, he could hear ringing through his phone again.

It continued to ring. And ring. And ring. Then just as Sam was about to hang up, the ringing was replace by a man's voice. _"Hello?"_

Sam instantly hit the Call End button. "Well," he said. "At least we know somebody's in the room."

"Nobody likes a smart ass," replied Callen.

* * *

Ops was silent, save the whir of computers and the rhythmic tap-tap of fingers on keyboards. Which is why Nell's whispered "Gotcha" reached Eric's ears. Not that he was hyper aware of her or anything. It was the silence of the room.

He looked over at the redhead; saw a victorious grin on her face as she stared at the monitor before her. He slid his chair over to her work station.

"Got what?" he asked.

She turned to him, still smiling. "I found an old alias of one of Adrian Anderson's group, active in Los Angeles for the past four years."

"That's a long time," said Eric, eyebrows creasing. "You sure it's not left over from a previous visit?"

"Nope," she replied, happily. "There are charges to it from as little as 2 days ago."

"Nice," said Eric, glancing at her screen. Everything there seemed to back up her assessment. And there was no reason to assume it wouldn't; if anyone was better at data mining in the OSP than Nell Jones, then Eric hadn't met them yet. And he's met everyone. "So who is it?"

A few keystrokes brought up a grey haired man. "Raymond Carter," said Nell. "And even better than that, there's an address."

"Good work," said a man's voice from behind them. Eric and Nell both gave small jumps, before turning to see Assistant Director Granger leaning forward to read the screen. "Send this information to Agents Hanna and Callen, have them check it out."

"Uhm…" began Eric. "Sam and Callen are sitting on Adrian Anderson's brother."

"Then this is a job for Miss Blye and Detective Deeks," said Hetty, from Granger's elbow. Eric noted with interest that the other man gave a visible jump, eyes widening as he looked down at her.

Eric reached for the phone. "On it," he said.

* * *

"You ever wonder what our portmanteau couple name would be?"

"Say what now?" asked Kensi, concentrating on steering the large SUV up the winding Beverly Hills road.

At first, Deeks didn't answer, and Kensi began to think maybe she'd imagined it. Then; "If we were famous, how would our name appear in tabloid magazines? You know, like Brangelina."

She cast a glance over at him; Deeks didn't even seem to be paying attention, eyes focussed outside the vehicle at the sprawling metropolis laid out below them. She shook her head, wryly. As always, it seemed like Deeks was simply talking to fill the silence, but there was always a chance it was a set-up, an angle he was working to get something out of her he could misuse at a later time.

"Would we be 'Deksi'?" he said. "You know, to rhyme with 'Sexy'? Cause we most certainly are that."

"Well, half of us anyway," she said, wryly.

"That's so sweet, that you think that about me," he replied smoothly. She flicked her eyes towards him; he was grinning again.

Kensi sighed, not responding to him. Refusing to be drawn further into this discussion. A few more moments passed, before Kensi pulled the SUV to the side of the road. Besides her, Deeks let out a low whistle through his teeth.

"Wow. That's nice," he said, taking in the house opposite them.

'_Nice'_ was one word for it, that was sure. But Kensi would have probably gone for '_breathtaking'_ instead. It was bigger than every apartment she'd ever lived in, put together; sprawled lazily back into the grounds it was all white stone, two stories, with large bay windows that must have streamed sunlight into the building. The grounds themselves where bordered by a thick green hedge, head height; the lush grass trimmed tight and the flower beds bright in bloom, no doubt the handiwork of a professional gardener, because that's what one does with money; several small statues of cherubs and angels lining the gravel stone driveway – complete with elaborate fountain –, where a silver Jaguar sat. The whole place sang of wealth. Not as much as some places they'd visited through their investigations, but enough for you to sit up and take notice, that was for sure.

"I don't see any sentries," said Kensi, after a moment's observation.

"Me neither," replied Deeks. "Wanna go take a closer look, make sure this is the right place?"

"Don't have any other plans I can't cancel," said Kensi, reaching for the door handle. "But keep a low profile, okay? If there's anyone in there, we don't want them getting spooked."

"I love it when you take charge," said Deeks, around a wide grin.

She ignored him, stepping out of the SUV instead. Together, they made their way, as casually as possible, towards the large metal main gates. Deeks opened it, and with a last look over her shoulder Kensi slinked through. Stooping low, staying silent, they moved across the grounds, hugging the shadows of the hedge and the occasional thick tree that stood tall from the grass, until they reached the white wall of the building. From here, they could make out a secondary building off to the side, smaller but still of the same design; a guest lodging, Kensi imagined. She caught a whiff of chlorine, no doubt from a pool that would be on the other side of the house, out of view of the main road.

"Deekensi?" whispered Deeks, suddenly.

She flicked her eyes over at him, brow furrowed in confusion, mouth already forming a silent '_Wha?_'

"If we, ya know, had to have a 'couple' name," he clarified.

Kensi shook her head. Was this really the time for this? Well, yeah, with Deeks, it was always the time for this. The man literally had no 'Off' switch.

"First of all, why are all these names using your surname?" she hissed back, knowing the man wouldn't shut up regardless of whether she answered him or not, but not wanting to make too much noise. "I'd ask what's wrong with 'Marty', but then we'd be here all day. Secondly, why are we even a couple in this ridiculous fantasy world of yours? I imagine you'd be swanning around with some fresh-out-of-college bottle blonde, who's not smart enough to realise she could do much better than you."

"Aw, Princess," he moaned, voice faux-hurting. "You know you're the only one for me."

"That's only because you want what you'll never, ever, have," she replied easily. But her smile gave her words the lie she knew they held. Knew his casual words thrilled her in a way they shouldn't.

_And damn, he knows it too_. Deeks grinned wolfishly back at her, winking at her.

"I could seriously imagine us in a place like this," he continued. "Me, cooking up burgers on the grill; you, lounging by the pool in a bikini."

"Why are you always the one cooking in your little fictions?"

He looked at her then, face unreadable. "Because I've tried your home-cooked meals before?"

Her mouth thinned, and her hand curled into a fist, but Kensi resisted the urge to punch him. Not because his words were true, no, but because of where they were.

"And how would we afford something like this?" she asked, only aware of her choice of pronoun after she'd finished.

He looked about them once more, taking it all in. "I dunno, I've seen what sort of money Saunders was getting, and I reckon I know a lot more stuff than he ever did."

"Deeks," she snapped, turning flashing eyes on him. "Don't even joke about that."

He seemed to realise he'd gone too far, holding his hands up and shrinking away from her. "No, no, I was – I was just…"

"Cause if you ever did that, I would hunt you down and put a bullet in your head. And if you were very lucky, I'd put another in the one on your shoulders too."

He let out a breath it seemed he hadn't even realised he'd held. "Okay," he said, after a moment. "Reason number four-hundred-and-twenty-seven why I would never do anything like that. And it's scary enough to jump to the top of the list. Bad Ass Blye on a personal vendetta is not something I want to be on the wrong side of. I've seen what that looks like; it's not pretty."

"You have to have a list of reasons why you'd never betray this country?" she exclaimed, eyebrow raised.

Deeks blinked in confusion. "What? No, it was a…" He trailed off, before seeing the mirth in her eyes. "And now you're messing with me. Great."

"Only a little," she said around a smile. She knew Deeks would never even consider it; he was far too loyal for that. Loyal to the law. Loyal to LAPD, and loyal to NCIS.

Loyal to her.

_To our – to our partnership, at least_. Did she have any right to expect him to be loyal to her in any other respects? That wasn't to say she wouldn't maybe _like_ him to be, given the dreams she'd had the past couple of nights, but…

_Hmmm_, she thought. It was a little weird. Now that she really put her mind to it, she hadn't heard Deeks talk about dating anyone in a while. Oh, he might perv at other women, and letch at them, and ogle, and… Anyway, the point was, he hadn't spoken of anyone staying overnight at his apartment in quite some time. At least, not to her. And he doubted he'd say anything to Sam and Callen about it. It's not like Deeks wasn't the type to boast, because he was, but he only ever seemed to do it when she was around. Maybe in some sort of childish attempt to make her jealous. Which had so totally not ever worked. _Ever_.

"Kens," said Deeks. "I think that's Carter."

Deeks had his back to the wall, head inched passed the frame of one of the large windows. Kensi slunk down low, under the view from the glass, and lifted her eyes up a fraction.

Inside appeared to be a lavish study; a large, deep brown desk took up the majority of the centre of the room; walls lined with shelf upon shelf of books; a drinks cabinet stacked with Scotches that were worth more than her yearly salary; an ornate and intricately detailed globe stood in one corner. And over by the large door to the room, pacing back and forth, with a phone placed to his ear, was a grey haired man who seemed to more than match the file picture of Raymond Carter.

From her position on her haunches, Kensi managed to dig into her jeans pocket, tugging her cell phone free. As cautiously as she could manage, she slipped the phone above the sill, taking a quick image. Checking it, she then sent it off to Ops, before dialling the number.

"Eric?" she said when it answered. "I've just sent you an image; can you run facial rec and –"

"What do you think you're doing?" came a shouted cry. It took Kensi only a split second to recognise the language – Russian – and translate it.

Almost as one, she and Deeks span towards the front of a house, taking in a big, burly, brick of a man, really living the stereotype; shaven head, cheap suit. Oh, and Heckler & Koch MP5A2 pointed at them.

"Federal Agents," shouted Kensi, in reply. "Put…"

She didn't even get it all the way out, as the man opened fire. All of Kensi's senses flared into hyper drive, instinct took over in less than a split second, and she barrelled her body against Deeks' torso, knocking her partner out of the way. Heated lead streaked passed them, ripping through the space they had stood only an instant before, smashing into the wall of the house and tearing chunks from the expensive stone.

Deeks reacted quickly to finding himself suddenly sprawled across the floor, and already had his Berretta in his hand, firing off shots towards the mook. The Russian dodged back, out of sight, behind the side of the house. Deeks kept up his assault, trying to keep the other man pinned down, give them both a chance to get out of the line of fire.

"Go," he snapped at Kensi. She didn't need to be told twice; scrambling, almost on hands and knees, she made her way towards a small wall, no more than two feet high, that stood by a small pathway winding through the grounds. Once behind it, she found her SIG in her hand, aimed back the way she had come. She could hear more voices, shouted Russian and other languages, coming from the far end of the house, and knew instantly that their assailant was second's away from receiving support.

"Deeks," she called out. The detective glanced over his shoulder at her, saw she was in cover, fired off two more rounds towards the hidden guard, and darted over to join his partner. Kensi kept up the cover, pumping out round after round as Deeks leaped easily over the low wall, before thumping his back hard against it. He popped out the spent magazine, slamming a fresh one in.

"You always have to go with the 'Federal Agent' thing," he moaned. "They always open fire on us."

"Oh, unlike when you shout 'LAPD' and people throw me off roofs?"

His retort was cut out as the Russian opened fire once more, drilling shells into the wall, sending brickwork and mortar spewing into the air. Kensi glanced about her, taking in everything around them, the adrenaline that coursed through her system heightening everything to crystal clarity. The wall wouldn't last much longer, not under the constant barrage, not now she could hear fresh weapons joining the fray from the guard's newly arrived back up. And experience told her that more armed men would be making their way towards them from the other direction. They needed to get out of the kill box as quickly as they could.

"Cover me," she called to Deeks.

He took one fleeting look at her, mouthed 'Why's it my turn again?', before popping up over the tip of the wall. Five guys, all armed with HKs, all spraying bullets randomly at the wall having not seen where Kensi and Deeks went down. But as soon as he crested the top, they turned towards him. Deeks knew he had only seconds for this, so snapped his weapon up and flashed off a handful of rounds. Most of the shots went wide – he hadn't chance to even think about aiming, just blind fired – and shattered against the wall or disappeared into the distance, but two shots caught a fresh sentry in the chest, blossoming a red mist from the entry point. Dead fingers pulled back on the trigger, a fresh volley of bullets tearing a line across the floor even as the man fell towards the ground.

Deeks saw none of the last, of course, since he'd already ducked back behind his meagre cover. All he saw was that Kensi was no longer at his side. His heart thudded against his ribs, threatening to break free, but it was only from adrenaline. He didn't even consider for a second that she had abandoned him; Kensi would never do that to a partner, least of all to him, and he would never dream of doing it to her. Deep down he knew that if they were going to die, they were going to die together. Back to back if needs be, as cliché as it sounded.

Besides all that, he'd worked with partners before, and as a part of a team, despite how bad he personally was at it. Correction; how bad he was at fitting in with others before Hetty Lange had come looking for him. But NCIS trained their agents differently than LAPD, and Kensi Blye was nothing if not a gifted and committed student. So that meant she had a plan, and given this was one of Kensi's plans he was talking about, it probably involved singlehandedly killing everyone on the property that wasn't Marty Deeks. And he instantly knew his role in the plan; to cause as much of a distraction as he could, to give her the time she needed to put her plan into action.

So, flinching at every shot that pinged nearby, he scooted along the wall a little more before hopping up and repeating the process, this time taking down two of his attackers before they could adjust their aim. Then, he threw himself bodily down onto his chest as lead streaked towards him, threatening to end his existence in a hail of pain.

He heard shouting, men's voices, in a language he didn't understand but assumed to be Russian. _That's it,_ he thought. _We get out of this, I'm asking Hetty to put me through as many courses as she thinks I need to take._

A figure appeared at the side of the wall, little more that a hulking shadow. Deeks raised his Berretta, pulling the trigger…

And heard the dooming click of an empty magazine.

Time froze, and Deeks felt his heart slamming against his chest, reverberating across the hard floor. His breath caught in his throat, a dry lump of certain knowledge. This was it. The guard grinned, turning his HK towards the Detective almost languidly, before suddenly snapping his head to one side in an explosion of blood and brain matter. Too shocked to even register what had just happened, Deeks watched in confusion as the man toppled to one side, weapon clattering on the ground. Slowly, through the pumping blood that throbbed in his ear, he became aware that silence had descended upon the area.

"Deeks?" came a woman's shout, shattering the silence.

Slowly, almost gingerly, Deeks crept up, cresting his head above the short wall. A woman made her way across the fallen bodies, SIG in hand, eyes searching. No, not just a woman; long dark tresses dancing in the breeze; exotic, mismatched, eyes that held just a hint of fear, determination and relief at seeing him alive; the bright sunlight haloing behind her. She was an angel in human form. His eyes hungrily drank her in. She'd never looked more beautiful.

"You alright?" asked Kensi.

Deeks let out a long breath, feeling his frantic heart beat slowing and returning to normal, the familiar tremble in his limbs as the adrenaline flushed from his system. "Never better," he replied, panting, feeling his cheeks ache a little from the wide grin plastered on his face. She returned the smile, richly, warmly, and her whole face seemed to light up like a high score on a pinball machine.

"Sorry I took so long," she said, apologetically.

"You're more than worth the wait," he replied, before it had even registered. Both their smiles faltered at the same moment. Energy danced in the space between them, and Deeks knew his heart was starting to race again. He could play it off as a joke, since he had partially only meant it as one. But as soon as the words left his lips, he knew he'd never want to take them back.

His mind trailed back to several months ago, when he'd been forced to deceive her about being fired from NCIS. Remembered her words during their awkward goodbye, the one he had needed to escape quickly before they both said something that could ruin their fragile partnership; _"If I don't say it now, I probably never will," _she'd said. _Well, now it's my turn_, he thought. He swallowed, drying to wet his suddenly parched throat.

"Kensi, I…"

He trailed off, movement in the corner of his eye catching his attention. "Carter's getting away," he hollered, already reaching for a fresh magazine and racing towards Kensi. She turned, seeing what he saw; Raymond Carter running across the gravel driveway towards his Jag, a briefcase in his hand, and a couple of thugs keeping him cover. Deeks' cry alerted the two men, and they turned towards the source, weapons rising; Deeks and Kensi took them down in an instant, double tapping a different man in synchronisation, working together like the well-oiled machine they were.

Carter used the brief distraction to throw himself into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut. A second later, the engine roared to life. The two partners continued to blast their handguns at the vehicle – the back window shattering into a thousand shards, wide holes tearing into the bodywork – but Carter smashed his foot against the gas pedal. The car lurched forward, accelerating up to speed in an instant, smashing through the large metal gates, before tyres screeched and it jerked to the left. Kensi and Deeks hurried after it, still firing as they went, but by the time they exited the grounds, the street was empty. Deeks let out a groan of exasperation.

Carter was gone. And so was the moment.

* * *

Lieutenant Bates, LAPD, poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, stirring it thoughtfully. As he breathed in the warm aroma, full-bodied and rich, he allowed his mind to wander, eyes skimming over the big board that dominated one wall of his precinct office.

He hated cases like this. The Sanchez Cartel, a new up-and-coming organisation, were muscling in on the territory of some of the more established criminal syndicates, snapping up their area and dominating them with ease. Bates' time in the military meant he knew a serious threat when he saw one, and the Sanchez Cartel had all the hallmarks of being the worst he'd ever seen. And even more concerning than that was the blind loyalty its soldiers seemed to possess; even Bates, with his interrogation experience, hadn't been able to break one of them. Oh, he could read the lies in them like they were an open book, but getting the evidence on their lies? Getting them to roll over on their bosses in exchange for lenience? Not even happening. Even their usually reliable sources had clammed up.

A knock on his door broke him from his reverie. In the frame stood a man he hadn't seen before, but he instantly recognised the body language, cheap suit, and badge the newcomer flashed; FBI.

_Great_, Bates thought. _Feds. Just what my day needs_.

"Agent Leigh, FBI. I'm looking for a Detective Deeks," said the man, and Bates heard the faint traces of a Texan accent, faded no doubt from years away from his home State, but still there out of stubborn resistance. "I heard he works in this precinct?"

"On paper, at least," replied Bates. "What do you want him for?"

"I have some information for him, highly pertinent to a case he's working at the moment."

"I can pass it on if you'd like?" said Bates.

The Texan made a small face. "Sorry, but this is the face-to-face sort of information. His eyes only. You know how these things work.

Bates nodded. "Well, like I said, you're not going to find him here. He's our liaison to NCIS. That's the Naval…"

"I know who NCIS is, thanks," interrupted the man, with a knowing smile. "Any idea where I can find them?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," said Bates, shaking his head. "You know what you Feds are like when it comes to sharing information with others."

The Texan laughed a little. "Boy, don't I know it! No worries, I'll get my boss to put in some calls. Try and get a little inter-agency communication going. It's a random idea, but it might just work. Thanks for your time."

"No problem," replied Bates, already turning back to his big board and taking a sip of his coffee.

François St James shut the door behind him as he left.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N –** Sorry for the loooooooooong delay between chapters. I've been working on my main project, trying to get caught up with that. Am currently in the plotting stages for the next story arc, so should hopefully be able to bang out some more chapters of this swiftly. Not to mention the current pictures of Deeks and Kensi surfing together have really re-ignited my love for the pair.

**Disclaimer –** I. DO. NOT. OWN. NCIS. LOS. ANGELES! There? Happy now? Cause I'm not!

* * *

Callen stepped from the yellow taxi a few meters away from the house, flashed his badge to the uniformed LAPD guy there, and ducked under the police tape. Raymond Carter sure had a nice home, if you ignored the bullet holes riddled into the walls, floor and some of the statues. The spent shell cases still in the process of being collected. The little yellow numbered markers. And the blood stains. Callen spotted the two junior Agents, over by the front door talking to a detective he hadn't met before, and made his way to join them.

"Can't leave you two alone for five minutes, can I?" he said with a smile as he joined them.

"Hey, don't blame me," said Deeks. "Blame Miss 'Federal-Agents-drop-your-weapons' over here. You all know that's like an open invite for the badguys to start shooting at us."

The detective finished scribbling in his notebook. "Thanks, Deeks," he said, to their LAPD Liaison. "If I have any more questions, I'll call you."

"No problems, Jerry. Give my love to your family," said Deeks, warmly, as the other man retreated back to the comforting embrace of his fellow LAPD officers.

"So what have we got?" asked Callen, glancing around the estate again.

"The usual," said Kensi. "Bodyguards, big guns. Deeks cowering in fear. But Carter got away. We did a quick search of the house as soon as we were sure the place was empty, but it looks like he took anything electrical with him when he fled. There's no laptop, no cellphone, and the safe in the study was open and empty."

"I was not cowering," complained Deeks. "I was the distraction. Anyway, when we got here, Carter was using his landline. We've got Eric running a trace on it as we speak."

"Any sign of Agent Dorsett?" Callen asked.

"No," replied Kensi. "If they have him, if doesn't look like they were keeping him here."

Callen nodded, rubbing his stubble thoughtfully. Then he flipped open his cell, dialing Ops. "Eric," he said when it answered, "you have any luck tracing Carter's last call?"

"_Just finishing running it now, Callen_," said Eric, voice tinny through the speaker. "_And the winner is… Oh, you're not going to believe this. It's the LA Hilton."_

"Saw that coming," said Deeks.

"Let me guess," said Kensi. "Jamie Anderson's room?"

"_Not sure,"_ said Eric. "_Their system doesn't make it the easiest thing in the world. Let me just… Okay, got it. Nope, no, it's a different room. It is the room right next door, tho. Checking their database now. Alright, the room is rented to a guy name 'Johann Schmidt'. I'm pretty sure that's probably an alias."_

"You think, Herr Beale?" said Deeks with a grin. Kensi gave him a stern look, which only widened the grin further. Callen ignored the pair of them.

"Eric, I want you to get into their CCTV footage, see if you can put a face to our mysterious Johann Schmidt. If we're lucky, it might even be Adrian Anderson."

"_On it,"_ said Eric, before hanging up.

Even as Callen finished putting his phone away, it rang once more. He checked the Call ID; Sam.

"_Jamie Anderson's on the move_," came his partner's voice.

"Alright," said Callen, nodding, mind working. "Follow him, but don't let this one spot you. Let me know where you end up; I'll come join you."

"_Nobody spots me,"_ protested Sam. "_Saunders just got lucky, is all."_

Callen grinned, disconnecting the call.

"Alright, you two," he said to Kensi and Deeks. "I want you to head over to the hotel and keep an eye out. See if you can get into his room, maybe plant some bugs. But don't do anything foolish; I don't want more firefights in my report. You know how much they annoy Hetty."

* * *

Sam flicked his eyes over as the passenger side of the Charger opened, and Callen slipped into the car.

"Anyone see you?" Callen asked, easing into the leather with a creak.

Sam pulled a face. "Ask me that again, nobody's ever going to see you again."

Callen smirked. "Getting testy today, huh?"

"You know I don't like sitting around, G," growled Sam. "I need to be doing something. So far, it seems like Kensi and Deeks are having all the fun, while I get stuck with the babysitting duties."

Callen didn't respond. Instead, he stared out of the front windshield of the Charger for a moment, taking in the warehouses around him, all red bricks, sloping roofs and high windows. Each warehouse was oddly identical in their dissimilarities. "Which one is Anderson in?"

Sam blinked. "Oh, is that what I was supposed to be doing?" Then he smiled. "The one on the left. The run down, abandoned looking one. Went in about half an hour ago, hasn't come out yet."

"See anyone else go in?"

"No, just him. Doesn't mean there wasn't anyone else in there already."

Callen nodded, processing the information. "Any back exits?"

"Yeah, one," replied Sam. "But it looks like it's been boarded up years ago. Only one way in, one way out."

"That's good," said Callen. "Wouldn't want anyone to slip past you while you're not looking."

"I'ma hurt you, G," growled Sam. "You know that, right?"

"Well, that'll have to wait, Sam. Looks like the meetings over."

Sam followed Callen's pointed finger, out of the car and towards the warehouse, where Jamie Anderson was emerging, blinking in the bright sunshine. At his side, still deep in discussion with the younger man, was a face they recognised from their brief.

"So that's where Raymond Carter ran off too," breathed Callen.

"For someone who wasn't involved in his brother's business," said Sam, "Jamie seems to know an awful lot of Adrian Anderson's friends."

Callen nodded; that was just what he'd been thinking. But what was the link between them? Was he just a voice for Adrian, since his more infamous brother didn't seem to have arrived in LA along with the rest of his gang? Or was Jamie deeply entrenched in the organisation? This case just got more and more convoluted the further they dug into it. Needlessly complicated, for what had appeared – at first glance – to be a random casualty in a kidnapping gone wrong. Well, all of those points had been false; what was to say anything they'd discovered so far was the truth too?

Outside, Anderson and Carter's conversation had come to a close, and the two shook hands warmly before departing in different directions; Carter to an idling yellow cab, while Anderson disappeared around a corner.

"What do you wanna do, G?" asked Sam, starting the engine of his Charger.

Callen furrowed his brow. _What did he want to do?_ He didn't want to split up from Sam, needed the safety and dependability of his partner. But could he afford to let either of these men out of NCIS's sight? In the end, he knew there was only one thing they could do.

"Follow the taxi," he said, decisively. "We at least know where Anderson's staying, and I get the feeling that this might be the only chance we get to follow Carter before he goes to ground again."

Sam nodded, pulling the Charger into the street and tailing the yellow taxi. Then Callen dialled the rest of his team.

"Kens," he said when the phone was answered. "Jamie Anderson might be on the way back to the hotel. Window's closing."

* * *

"There you go, Mr. Abernathy," said David, handing the key card over to the balding business man. The man took it, not even bother to acknowledge David, still talking into the cell phone pressed firmly to his ear.

"No, not tomorrow," was all the man said to whoever he was verbally lambasting on the other end of his conversation. "You get it done today. I don't care if you have to stay late to finish it; I want it on my desk first thing in the morning. You got that?"

Abernathy snapped the phone closed, turning away from reception without even a word. Inwardly, David rolled his eyes; you got a lot of pretentious jerks when you worked reception at one of the finest hotels in Los Angeles. The sort of person who didn't care about anyone else's feelings, or even notice anyone else existed outside their own little bubbles. You thought money made them better than other people. Didn't mean you had to like them, but you had to put up with them.

David looked down at his computer, finished the check-in process of Gordon Abernathy. He looked up at the sound of a disturbance. Abernathy was standing a few feet away, red in the face and glaring at a scruffy haired blond man.

"Why don't you watch where you're going?" demanded Abernathy.

"I said I was sorry, buddy," protested the other man, his voice bearing the unmistakable drawl of a surfer. "I didn't see you."

"You should maybe be more observant then," snapped Abernathy, before snatching up his suitcase from where it had dropped on the floor, and storming off. David returned his attention to the computer screen, trying not to shake his head at some people's attitudes. As such, he missed the blond surf guy walk passed a brunette woman, so close their hands were almost touching. In fact, the only reason he became aware of the woman at all was when she stepped up to the reception desk.

"Hi," she said, smiling brightly. She was… breathtaking was the only way David could describe her, with magical mix-matched eyes. She bobbed her head, her whole body, almost girlishly, twirling her long locks around her fingers and snapped on the bubblegum in her mouth. "Uh, yeah, like my boyfriend? I'm supposed to like get something from his room, so he gave me his key, you know? But of course, when I get up there, it totally won't work. So I was wondering…?"

She dangled a keycard in front of David's face, and blasted him with a warm smile. David smiled back.

"What was the room number?" he asked.

* * *

The door swung open.

"I can't believe that worked," said Deeks, as he made his way into Jamie Anderson's room, flicking on the lights.

"What can I say," said Kensi, already doing a cursory look-round of the room. "Some people just have trustworthy personalities."

"Oh please," he retorted. "Like it had nothing to do with you waving your Entotos in his face?"

Kensi snorted slightly. "Jealous?"

He balked at her. "What? Of him? Dweeby McDweeberson the third? No." Then he paused, seeming to think about it. "Well, okay, maybe just a little."

Kensi shook her head wryly. "Take a look around, Deeks," she ordered. "I'm going to plant the bugs."

"You really are a bossy-britches today," he said, opening up the bedside set of drawers and rooting around inside. Kensi began gently unpacking the set of small electronic bugs, switching them on. "I mean, that's not to say I don't kind of like it, but we're supposed to be partners. Equals."

"Yeah, well some of us are more equal than others," she responded. "Besides, this is an NCIS op, and since I'm the only NCIS Agent here…"

"What, you think that makes you better than me?"

"No, of course not," she replied smoothly. "There's no 'think' about it!" She faced him then, flashing him a smile to let him know she was only playing, but Deeks didn't even seem to be paying her any real attention. Inside, she felt a pang of annoyance at that, but pushed it down to get on with the task at hand. Flirting with De – _Bantering! Bantering, bantering, bantering _– with Deeks was not why they were there.

The bugs were smaller than any she'd used before, barely a centimetre in diameter. They were the latest in cutting edge technology, almost invisible to the naked eye, and with passive transmission that would hopefully escape the notice of even the most thorough searches and electronic checks. She placed a couple around the room, then called Deeks over as she needed to place a third up high, above the curtain that covered the large windows overlooking LA. Deeks put his back against the wall, entwining his fingers to make a brace, and she pushed herself up onto them, stretching up. She fiddled with the bug, almost dropped it twice, trying to get it to stick, and…

She took a sharp inhale of breath as Deeks' nose rubbed against her groin. She tightened her mouth into a thin line, and swatted a free hand down to strike at the side of his head, the impact lessened by the thick matt of hair atop his head.

"Not now, Deeks," she said harshly, to remind him of their deal.

"Kinda not intentional, Kens," he responded, voice strained. "Trying my hardest, ya know, but you need to stop pushing forward. I can't go back any further."

She cast a quick glance down. He was right; his head pulled back all the way to the wall, the front of her jeans hovering only a fraction of an inch from him. She became acutely aware of his warm breath through the material, dancing across her panties, and was surprised she hadn't acknowledged it before. "Oh," she said, trying to keep the tremble from her voice. "Sorry."

She pulled her waist away a little more, pushing herself up further a fraction of an inch, and returning to her task. It was more difficult to balance now. Heck, it was just plain difficult to concentrate now – now she was hyper conscious of the position of both their bodies, of the miniscule space and the thin layers of fabric that separated them – but she'd just have to manage.

Below her, she heard him say, "So, does that mean you wouldn't mind me doing it when we're not on an assignment?"

She could just imagine the cocky grin on his face. That wasn't helping the small charges she could feel shudder through her body. Her knees almost buckled under her right there and then.

"I did not say that, Deeks," she replied, finally, trying not to lick her lips. Trying to concentrate on the task at hand. Trying, dammit, to think of baseball stats. None of those three were successful.

"Really? Cause – cause it kind of sounded like you did. What with the whole 'Not now, Deeks' thing, it sort of implied a later."

"There will be no later if I make you a eunuch." She managed, somehow, to put some snap into her words.

"You still haven't answered my question."

Kensi shook her head, finishing placing the bug, and – with great trouble due to her shaking legs – hopped off his hands. "Finished," she said, instead.

"Hmmm," he said, wicked grin lighting up his face. "That wasn't a 'No'."

_Just say 'No', woman_, Kensi thought, sternly. "We done in here?" she said aloud instead, glancing around the room. _Coward_.

"Think so," he replied, grin still cocky. "Unless it's 'Later' now?"

She shot him a filthy look.

* * *

"They do know we can hear them, right?" asked Eric.

Nell blinked. She'd completely forgotten the man was listening to the devices the same as she was. She'd just go too lost in overhearing Deeks and Kensi banter between themselves, unaware their every word was being broadcast back to Ops. She'd known the partners flittered their conversations back and forth more easily than they had even as little as a year ago – just witnessing them in the bullpen was enough to inform anyone of that fact. But she hadn't known just how… _charged_… it was when they thought they were alone. How forward Deeks was. And how blatantly obvious it was that Kensi's defences had long since crumbled, and she only resisted out of habit. _Well, probably fear too_, Nell amended. _But they're so blind to the fact that they're both crazy for each other._

_Why can't I have that in my life?_

She turned finally, to face Eric. Her constant companion was already looking at her expectantly, eyes looming large, soft and bright through his glasses, and she suddenly found herself cursing Nate for the things he'd foolishly assumed the last time he'd visited. Those things that, you know, weren't true, and all?

"I'm going to say no," she replied eventually. "Listen, I need you to do me a favour."

"Anything." His reply was instant.

She, however, took a second to speak. "I know it's against protocol, but can you delete the recording? Not all the way, just up until, oh I don't know, about now-ish?"

Despite his assurance that he would do anything for her, Eric's face took on a confused twist, and he paused. "I don't know if I should. It's…"

"Eric…" she began. But what could she say to him? He'd heard the same as she did, but probably assumed that it was just their usual banter. Hadn't noticed how differently Kensi had been the last couple of days. And he most certainly hadn't been there when Nell and Deeks had escorted Alexander Harris to his meeting with Kensi. She ran the man's words back through her mind. _"Your boss know about you two?" _he'd said, to Deek's passive face. She owed it to them to make sure that their private and personal interactions didn't end up recorded for all eternity, heard by all and sundry, or even just gathering dust in a facility somewhere. Owed it to their partnership, and her friendship with both of them. Especially given that, out of everyone in OSP – Eric excluded of course – she always felt closer to the junior agents.

Nell had gravitated towards Kensi because they had the dubious honour of being two amongst a very small handful of young women in the building. They'd hung out, outside of the office, and found they both enjoyed each other's company, relished the opportunity to let their hairs down. And Deeks… Well, Deeks had started at the office at roughly the same time as she did, so they had felt the bond of being newcomers. And she'd always felt a little sorry for him; he'd taken the brunt of the distrust, hostility and suspicion of the established agents by being unlucky enough to replace a missing member and by not even being an NCIS Agent at all. There'd been little of it left over to be directed at her. Something that, even though he was probably completely unaware of, she would eternally be grateful to him for.

Nell became aware that Eric was still staring at her, waiting for her to finish. She sucked on her lips, mouth turning into a thin line. "I'm going to tell you something," she said. "And when I do, I want you to erase the recording."

"I can't promise, Nell."

She nodded, licking her lips. Then she told him about what she'd overheard that day, when Kensi had gone rogue to hunt down her father's killer. When she finished, Eric reached for the console, pushed a button, and she knew that Kensi and Deeks' conversation was gone for good. She smiled warmly at him, and he beamed back, that big goofy grin of his. She could almost kiss him for doing that for her.

"So, uh," he began. "What do you think? Is he hiding from it, or lying to himself?"

"Hiding," she replied instantly. "Kensi's the one lying to herself."

Eric smiled at her. Then, the smile faded, his eyes widening. "Uh oh," he said.

"What?" asked Nell, sliding her chair over to look at his screens. "What is it?"

Then she saw; the live feed from the Hilton, in the lobby. Jamie Anderson returning to the hotel. And at his side was Francois St James. Eric was already reaching for the phone.

"Deeks," he said as it was answered. "You need to get out of there right now."

_"You don't have to tell me twice."_

They both watched on the flickering black and white security feed – the camera postioned at the far end of the corridor – as the two Agents emerged from Jamie Anderson's room. Deeks went left, coming closer to the camera before disappearing out of view at the bottom of the screen, while Kensi went right, dwindling in size before she rounded a corner. A second later Deeks hurried back into view, scurrying after his partner. He stopped at the far corner, looking concernedly the other way, when a feminine hand materialised from behind him, grabbed around his wrist, and yanked him roughly off and out of view. Less than a moment later, Anderson and St James appeared from the bottom of the screen, though thankfully – from their body languages at least – it didn't appear they'd spotted the partners.

On the screen, Anderson and St James exchanged last words outside the room door, before Jamie Anderson opened and stepped inside. St James, however, carried out and stopped outside the room rented to Johann Schmidt. He dug into his pocket, fishing out a key card, and let himself into the room.

"Well," said Eric, "at least we know who is staying in that room."

"Right," agreed Nell.

There was an almost silent hiss from behind them as the doors to Ops slid open. They both glanced over as Granger made his way in. He asked for a situation report, and the two filled him in with as many details as they had.

"Get Agents Hanna and Callen on the line," he said, voice deep and commanding. "Tell them I want them to bring Raymond Carter in, before he vanishes from our radar. We've been going in circles for long enough."

Eric and Nell exchanged a concerned look.

* * *

**A/N –** How did I not notice that the character's name was (Ale)_Xander_ _Harris_? BUFFY FTW!


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer –** See previous chapter disclaimers for how much I don't own NCIS Los Angeles.

* * *

"This isn't a good idea Hetty," said Callen to the phone pressed to his ear. "Arresting Carter now, when we don't know thing one about why he or the rest of his group are here is just… it's just madness."

"_Be that as it may, Mr. Callen,"_ replied the diminutive woman on the other end of the line,_ "I believe that you have your orders_."

"But you don't agree with them either, do you?" he pressed. There was no immediate answer. "You need to speak to Granger and get him to change the order."

"_I have spoken at some length to Assistant Director Granger,"_ she said eventually. "_He made it very clear to me exactly what his job title was within NCIS when he informed me that his order stands; bring Raymond Carter in."_

Callen closed his eyes, and forced down the curse. He hated the political power struggles that marred so many of the agencies he'd worked for in the past. It was part of the reason he preferred the more fluid regime within NCIS, and more specifically within the Office of Special Projects. At least, he had until Granger had appeared on the scene, shaking things up and almost setting the team against one another.

"I still don't like it, Hetty," he said. "And I want it on record that I think it's a bad idea."

"_I shall pass your concerns on to the Assistant Director, along with my own. But for now, I suggest you remember that sometimes you do not have a choice in which orders you follow."_

Callen shook his head, frustrated, as he ended the call. "Order still stands, Sam," he said to his partner.

"This isn't a good idea," growled Sam.

Callen gave him a rueful smile. "Tell me something I don't know." He pulled himself from the darkened doorway, back into the busying street. "What's Carter up to?"

Sam gave a glance down the street. "Still at the Café. He's been on his laptop for the last half hour, drinking lattes like he's not currently one of the most wanted men in LA. But so far, he's not made any calls, or had any visitors. Just seems like he's killing time."

"Well, looks like he's about to have two uninvited ones," said Callen. He gave a gesture with his head, and the pair started to cross the road. Once on the other side, both men put their years of vast experience to good use, eyes searching back and forth for signs of any guards, ambushes or any other nasty surprises that might be awaiting them. Satisfied that no such threats existed, they began to approach Carter.

The man looked up as Sam blocked out the sun.

"Raymond Carter," said Callen, voice firm and authoritative. "NCIS, we need you to – "

Before the words were finished, Carter scrambled to his feet, racing away from the pair. For a grey haired man, he moved surprisingly swiftly, and was a half dozen paces away before the Agents had even registered what had happened. But register they did, and split seconds later they took off in pursuit, sneakers smacking against the pavement as arms and legs pumped in unison. But the streets were filling up as the working day came towards its inevitable end, and Callen found himself forced to dodge and twist aside to avoid shoppers, workmen, suited businessmen, and couples with pushchairs and dogs in equal number. Carter didn't help matters; being shockingly spry was one thing, but the duo still would have caught him easily if he hadn't pushed and pulled at the people around him, sending them spilling into one another, sprawling across the floor and turning the air blue in his wake. Callen was forced to leap over three such heaps of humanity, each time losing ground as he did.

He fought a growl. "Sam," he said. It was all he needed to say; years of being at the other's side meant the need for verbal communications in situations like this were almost none existent.

"On it," came the reply, before Sam peeled off to the left, disappearing from sight down a side street.

Callen continued on after Carter, even as the man took lefts and rights down seemingly random roads, desperate to shake his pursuer. Then, he took out into the road itself, ignoring the screech of tires and the desperate blare of horns as cars skidded and twisted to avoid mangling his body. More shouts followed Carter, this time from drivers who had stepped from their now motionless vehicles. Callen leapt, sliding across the hood of one car, zigzagging around others. And still, Carter remained just out of reach.

"Federal Agent," yelled Callen at the top of his lungs.

Then, Carter made the first mistake of his flight; he cast a glance over his shoulder, looking to see how far away Callen was from him. Callen saw the miniscule smile play on Carter's lips, before he turned his head back –

And ran right into an immovable tree-trunk of an arm. It almost clean took his head off his shoulders.

Carter skidded forwards a few more feet, his momentum carrying him on despite the fact that the impact had put him practically on his back. Callen raced over, his SIG drawn and pointed at the downed man, even as Carter fought the arms now binding his wrists.

"Feeling better?" Callen asked.

"Much, thanks," Sam replied. "Nothing like a refreshing jog to stretch my muscles."

* * *

Raymond Carter sat behind the table, hands tented casually before him. 'Casual' was certainly the word Callen would use to describe the man; as the Agents entered the interrogation room in the boat shed, Carter casually glanced over at them, seemed not to show one iota of interest, and returned to casually staring at the wall in front of him.

Sam took a spot by the door, leaning back and folding his arms as menacingly as he could. Callen dropped the thick manila file on the desk before Carter. The grey haired man flicked his eyes down at the file, showed zero interest again, before looking Callen right in the eyes.

"You've been a very naughty boy," said Callen, taking a seat.

"I want my lawyer," the man replied.

Rather than answering right away, Callen took a second to survey their prisoner. He was grey haired, that was for sure, but it wasn't just the grey of age. Instead, Carter would fit the description of a silver haired fox, with thick strands of hair swept back over his skull. His face was handsome though weathered, experienced, but his blue eyes were cool and aloof. His charcoal suit was expensive, tailor made for him only no doubt, and around his wrist he wore a gold plated watch that probably cost more than Sam, Deeks, Kensi and Callen earned in a year. The arms business, it seemed, was good.

Callen chose to ignore the request. "And this is just the stuff we have on file for you. It's not taking into account everything you've done today, the things we suspect, and the things that we're no doubt going to uncover over the course of our investigation."

"I want my lawyer," said Carter.

Callen opened the file, leafing through it. "There's some pretty nasty stuff here. You sell to a lot of people, Mr. Carter. A lot of people."

"I. Want. My. Lawyer," repeated Carter. _No, he isn't being casual_, Callen amended._ If anything, he seems bored by the whole thing_.

"A lot of bad people," reiterated Callen. "People who then used those weapons to attack the American military, and American civilians. So you know what that makes them? Unlawful combatants. _Terrorists_ is another word people like to use for them. Makes you one too, for supplying those weapons. That also means we can have you in an orange jumpsuit in Gitmo before you even know what's hit you. See how good asking for your lawyer does you then."

It didn't work. Carter grinned languidly. "I'd be out within a week." There was an audible implication hanging in his words.

"That's what they all say," said Callen, trying to call the other man's bluff. The truth was, the other man's calm demeanour was confusing and downright unnerving. "Never works. But you can help yourself out here. Tell us everything about Adrian Anderson, and what the rest of his people are doing in Los Angeles, and maybe we can make sure you spend your sentence stateside."

Carter smiled, unclasping his hands in an open gesture. "I don't know any Adrian Anderson," he said easily. Callen stifled a groan of frustration. He didn't need his years of experience to tell him Carter was lying.

The man wasn't even trying to hide it.

* * *

With a soft hiss the automatic doors slid open, and Deeks followed his partner into the darkened Ops. It felt weird to leave the surveillance of the younger Anderson and St James unmanned, trusting to the electronic measures, but given that Sam and Callen were busy with Carter, there was nobody available should any situations arise. Besides, the pair didn't seem to be going anywhere just yet; instead, they were propping up the hotel bar. As they entered Ops, Eric gave a quick look over at the junior Agents, and smiled – or was it something else? A smirk maybe? – before going back to his work. Nell didn't even notice the pair; she was preoccupied listening to the large headphones sat pressed to her ears. No doubt she was going through the footage from Jamie Anderson's room.

"No, no, no, just because you can't remember where you put it," said Kensi, "doesn't mean I took it."

Deeks shook his head. "So you want me to believe that my favourite pen just decided to wander off my desk? Just admit it; you like having things that belong to me. Helps you feel closer to me. I bet you even have a little drawer at home full of stuff you've stolen from me over the years. It's probably labelled 'Things Taken From Deeks' Desk'. You still owe me a T-shirt by the way."

"I can't talk to you," Kensi said, throwing her arms up. "It is physically impossible. I mean, it's like talking to a five year old."

Deeks grinned. A frustrated Kensi was fun – but only when she was frustrated at him, naturally – and sexy as hell. "So does that make you the mother of all cradle robbers then?" he asked.

She turned to face him. "You give yourself far too much credit, Deeks," she retorted.

Deeks didn't reply. He simply continued to smile at her, eyes locked easily with hers. A long moment passed, and he watched the frustration slowly ebb from her features, to be replaced with… She turned away, hoping he wouldn't see her blush. When they did catch eyes again, he held up one finger, and mouthed, 'That's one.'

She gave him a dirty look in return.

"Everything coming through clearly from the bugs?" Deeks asked Eric, as he moved over to the tech operative.

"Oh yeah," he replied. And yup, there it was. That same knowing grin the man had worn when the partners had first entered the room. It was definitely smug.

"Something funny, Eric," asked Deeks.

With some effort, Eric schooled his face into a semblance of normality. "No. No, why do you ask?"

"You're acting like the cat that got the cream. It's disconcerting."

Eric shook his head, corners of his mouth twitching. "Nothing, don't worry about it."

"What's going on?" asked Kensi, as she came to join them.

"Oh, Eric here keeps grinning at me like he's got a secret," Deeks replied. "And he won't tell me what it is."

"We work in an intelligence organisation," replied Eric indignantly. "I know lots of things I can't tell you guys." Then, the corners of his lips struggled once more not to turn into another grin.

Kensi leaned in close, almost nose to nose with Eric. "What are you grinning at, Eric?" she said.

Deeks clapped his hand comradely onto Eric's shoulder. "Why don't you just make it easy on yourself? Just tell us what you're grinning at, and my partner here doesn't have to do something you'll regret."

"I'm not grin–" Eric began, and cut off with a yelp as Kensi grabbed his arm, twisting it roughly behind the lanky man's back.

"What are you grinning at, Eric," repeated Kensi, trying almost as unsuccessfully to keep the playfulness out of her voice. But then, Deeks highly doubted Eric would have even noticed the shift in tone; only someone who was as hyper aware of Kensi's moods, modes and quirks would do that.

"N-nothing, nothing," repeated Eric, actually laughing hysterically from the pain. "I'm not grinning at anything."

"You can do better than that, Eric," said Deeks. "We're trained investigators, and I don't think Kensi believes you. I know I don't."

"Ahem," came a rather pointed voice. "I suggest you put Mr. Beale down, Miss Blye, before somebody gets hurt. And I am certain that Miss Jones won't appreciate the extra work she would need to undertake."

Kensi released Eric, looking a little sheepish. Hetty turned her attention then to Deeks. "Why do I feel that you're the instigator of all this, Detective?"

Deeks gave her his most winning smile in response.

"Guys," said Nell urgently, taking the headphones off. "You're going to want to hear this."

She fiddled with her controls a second, then hit play again, letting the playback come through the speakers. As it continued, Deeks felt his eyebrows rise on shock. Even Hetty seemed surprised.

"Get me confirmation," she said, to Eric. He returned to his station, working away rapidly on his keyboard.

"The operation is confirmed," he said, even as he continued deeper and deeper into information. "And one casualty too. Everything's on file, DNA, dental records, the works, but it looks like nobody made the connection."

"Send everything over to Miss Sciuto, in D.C," Hetty said. "Tell her that I need confirmation ASAP, and she needs to drop everything else she's doing. And if anyone over there has a problem, she can tell Agent Gibbs to call me himself."

"That'd be an interesting conversation," said Kensi.

"On it," said Eric, smiling again. Though this time, Deeks realised, for a totally different reason. He was positively buoyant. He reached for the phone. "It's been ages since I spoke to Abby."

"Who… w-who's Abby?" asked Nell, in a small voice.

* * *

"You're sure about that, Nell?" asked Callen, roughly an hour later.

Before the two Agents, the image of the data analysis bobbed her head on the plasma screen. "_We have a positive DNA match. It's him alright." _

"This makes no sense, G," said Sam, coming around the table. He cast a quick glance at the other monitor, where Carter was still displayed, lazily drumming his fingers on the interrogation room desk.

"_When has any of this made sense, Mr. Hanna_?" said Hetty, coming up behind Nell and peering over the younger woman's shoulder. _"It's just one more piece of the puzzle."_

"Yeah," said Callen. "A puzzle that's starting to make a clearer picture."

"_Something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?" _

"I don't need to," replied Callen, as the last of the paperwork printed out, along with the images. "Somehow, I don't think Carter'll care that we know. He's so smug in there, he'll probably fill in the rest of the gaps for us."

He grabbed the pictures, sliding them into the file, before nodding to Sam. The big man opened the door to the interrogation room, and the two Agents made their way in. Callen dropped the file in front of Carter, opening it up to show the lifeless face peering back; the bullet hole, round and fatal, in the forehead.

"Adrian Anderson is dead," said Callen, forcefully. "Taken out by a SEAL team seven months ago. Oh, they didn't know what it was that they'd found, of course. It was just a random op, totally unrelated to Anderson or his organisation, so either nobody checked too deeply after the fact, or you managed to suppress the information somehow. But the fact is, he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Carter shrugged noncommittally.

Callen leaned forward over the desk, looming over Carter. "So why don't you tell me why his organisation is in LA, when there's no one to run it?"

Carter leaned back, not bored now. But smug. Cocky.

"You have the time?" he asked.

"You've got a watch," Callen replied.

"I'm afraid it broke when your partner tackled me." Carter held the hand up. Callen could see instantly that the face was intact, and the hands still ticked along normally. "Tell me the time, and I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Callen narrowed his eyes. This hadn't been what he'd expected in the slightest. He glanced at his own watch. "It's a little after eight. What does it matter?"

"Because the SEAL team responsible are due to return home today, at approximately 2100hrs," said Carter. "And my companions will be there to give them the homecoming they so richly deserve."

* * *

"Hurry up, Kens," shouted Deeks, through the door and into the otherwise deserted women's changing area. "We're on a tight deadline if we want to stop that hit before the SEAL team lands."

"I know the stakes, Deeks," she called back, tightening the body armour across her torso. It made it harder to breath sometimes, making you force your lungs out to counter it, but it was either that or go without. And when it was a choice like that – when a vest had saved her life too many times to mention, and the lack of one had once almost cost her Deeks – well, it really was a no brainer.

Once she was satisfied it was on correctly, she stepped out of the changing room. Deeks moved upright from where he had been leaning patiently against the wall, uncrossing his arms. He already had his vest and full gear on; didn't need to hide out to change, unlike Kensi. And to be honest, the only person she was hiding out from in that case was Deeks himself. She took pause, noting the white stencilled NCIS upon his vest; it suddenly reminded her that Deeks wasn't fully one of them, no matter what they thought. On the one hand, it was a shame. She'd never admit it, least of all to his face, but he made a good operative, and the fact that he was only (and she'd also never use the word 'only' to his face either) an LAPD detective didn't take full advantage of his skills. Of course, if he became a full agent… well, that had other problems. Fraternisation was frowned upon in NCIS. Not that Kensi had any thoughts of frate – _Oh, stop lying to yourself, woman_, she thought sternly. _And get your head in the game. There are more important things to be thinking about right now than you and Deeks_. She started to head towards the bullpen.

"Hold up," called Deeks.

She paused, turned to face him. "I thought we were in a hurry," she said.

"We are," he replied, moving closer to her, that lupine grin on his face. Despite her assertiveness a few seconds before, her breath caught in her throat. Then, his hands moved lower, trailing gently across her thigh.

"What are you doing?" she managed, eyes darting back and forth down the thankfully empty corridor, before she swallowed. "This is not the time to…"

Wordlessly, he stepped back, still smiling. She glanced down; the thigh holster of her combat gear was now tied tight to her leg.

"You're welcome," he said easily. "And I'm not even going to mention that sentence you didn't finish."

Kensi arched and eyebrow at him. "Apart from just then?"

"What can I say, I'm nothing if not predictable."

Kensi didn't answer, didn't trust herself to, so instead took back her Colt M4A1 and led her partner towards the bullpen, where they were greeted by a dozen similarly garbed Agents, bristling with weapons. Hetty stood in the middle of the crude circle of bodies, surveying the scene, hands clasped behind her back. When she noted Kensi and Deeks arrive, she nodded once, before catching the eye of every Agent around her. Each look she gave was the same; determination, pride, and a warning to come back alive. When she reached Kensi, she paused a moment longer, seemingly weighing something in her mind. She continued to Deeks and repeated the process, before continuing. Then she turned, heading back to her desk where Granger waited.

"You know what to do people," said Granger. "Make us proud."

As one, the group moved towards the courtyard, spreading out towards their individual vehicles. Kensi reached for the driver's side handle of her plain black transit. A familiar whistle, almost a high pitched whoosh, sang through the courtyard, followed seconds later by an unmistakable crack. The Agent just behind her, already half in the backseat of her van, snapped his head back, blood spraying from his face, before he collapsed in a lifeless ruin.

"Shooter," Kensi heard herself shout.

Then everything went to hell.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N –** This took, literally, forever to write. Seems like action scenes are not the easiest thing for me to write. But I hope I did it justice, and that you enjoy it, as it's the climax of the story. There's one chapter left of this story, which is mostly written (I'm like JK Rowling; I had most of the end written months ago) so there shouldn't be too much of a delay for that.

* * *

With a squeal of tyres, the four black Humvees skidded to a halt in the mission's courtyard. A second later a dozen – _no, two dozen_, Kensi instantly amended – men spilled from the vehicles; to a one they wore black fatigues, their features covered by balaclavas, and clutching SIG SG 552 Assault Rifles in gloved hands. The attackers opened fire, bullets ripping through the air between them and the Agents, who sprawled themselves to the ground or scrambled behind the cover of their own vehicles.

Kensi dove herself into the front of her van, spinning around and slamming the door behind her, the rounds slamming into the metal seconds later. The driver's side window exploded under the hail, glass splintering and showering across Kensi, though thankfully doing little more damage than a few small cuts to her flesh. She scrambled across the van, pushing herself into the passenger side, before barging that door open and spilling herself out onto the hard concrete on the other side. She pressed her back against the solid metal of the van.

"Deeks," she shouted, her desperate voice swallowed up by the yells and the crack of gunfire around her. "Deeks!"

There was no answer. Kensi's heart throbbed frantically in her chest, and her eyes swivelled this way and that, searching desperately for that infuriating mop of golden hair. But she couldn't see it, and knew that she couldn't spend much longer looking for her partner; there was a fight going on, and she needed to get back into it.

She grabbed her M4A1, sliding her frame along the side of the van until she joined up with the four Agents huddled at the rear. She placed a hand on one of the Agents' shoulders – Pete, his name was – to let them know that she was there. He glanced over, recognised her, and nodded.

"What's the sitch?" she asked, as bullets pinged off the frame of the van.

"We lost two already," replied Pete. "Who are these guys?"

"No idea," replied Kensi. "Hold on." She took three shallow breaths, steeling herself, before popping her head around the edge of the vehicle, glancing out at the enemy. They'd retreated after the initial assault, using their heavy military vehicles as cover. They exchanged fire with the NCIS Agents huddled by the third van, rounds bouncing harmlessly off the armoured carapace of the Hummers. But she saw something else; a smaller group of three had broken away from the main force of attackers, hugging the soft brown walls of the courtyard, darting between the ornaments, trying to flank the Agents. Kensi ducked back behind the van; total time spent, a little more than one second.

"Cover me," she said to Pete. The other Agents rose, almost as one, unloading heated lead from their Colts towards the Humvees, the new direction forcing the men there to duck back into cover. Kensi was already moving, towards the front of the van. She pressed herself up against the wheel, bracing herself, then threw herself out into the open, ripping out rounds towards the moving group. One went down, holes torn into his torso. The others dodged aside, Kensi's hailstorm of bullets passing impotently by them, before they span, seeking her out. Within seconds, they had found the source of the oncoming barrage, and turned their own weapons on her…

Something grabbed Kensi by the back of her vest, dragging her back behind the van even as the enemy opened fire, filling the now-empty space with death-dealing metal.

She reacted on instinct; twisting out from the hands that held her, using her own momentum to slam the bigger man roughly against the side of the van, face first, arm twisted painfully behind his back.

"Hi, princess," said Deeks through lips smooshed up against the panel.

"Nice of you to show up," she said, releasing her grip on her partner and allowing him off the van.

"Hey, in case you missed it, I, uh, I just saved your life," he said. "Again."

"I wasn't aware we were keeping score," she replied. "Cause if we are, does it count if you save me after getting me thrown off a roof?"

"Can't you guys do that later?" said Pete as he hurried over to join them, crouching low and tight.

"Do what?" said Kensi, turning her confused expression on the other Agent. Pete, for his part, just gave her an 'Are you serious?' look.

"So what now?" asked Deeks.

"Now," she said, taking his gaze and feeding confidence and determination into it. "Now we push them the hell out of our house."

* * *

Sam glanced at the clock on the Charger's dashboard, before lifting his watch and double checking the time against that.

"I don't like it, G," he said, though the open window to his partner. Callen leaned back against the hood of the black car, peering through a pair of binoculars, out the hanger's open doorway and out onto the landing pad just outside. "Where is everybody?"

They'd spoken to Eric in Ops not fifteen minutes passed. The technical operative had told them that Kensi and Deeks would be leading a TAC Team out to their location, scheduled to leave ASAP. But they were the only support the two senior Agents could expect. The Navy hadn't wanted to do anything; didn't believe the threat that St James and the remnants of Adrian Anderson's organisation held, and wouldn't even confirm or deny if the SEAL team would be landing when Carter said they would. Not even Hetty had been able to pry the information out yet, but no doubt she'd be making her way up the chain of command, bullying and threatening as she went until she got what she wanted. Hetty always did.

"They'll be here," said Callen, not taking his eyes from the binos. "We've still got time."

"I'd feel a lot better if we knew how far out they were," grumbled Sam. "I'm not saying we can't take care of ourselves, but we have no idea how many we're going to be up against. I don't like not being prepared."

"I know this Sam," Callen replied. "But you couldn't get anything more out of Carter, not in the timeframe we had. If it'll make you feel any better, why not try calling them?"

"I did," said Sam. "Kensi's phone went straight to voicemail."

That got Callen to lower the binoculars, and he turned to duck his head into the Charger. "It shouldn't do that. What about Deeks?"

"Rang out. I tell you, that guy has the most annoying answering message ever."

"You sound surprised by this. Have you not met the man?"

"Suppose I shouldn't be, no," said Sam, shaking his head. He and Deeks had never seen eye to eye, that was true; there was still a little resentment for the Liaison taking Dom's spot on the team. Sam knew it was foolish resentment. It wasn't as if it was Deeks' fault. And even though over the last couple of years they'd grown closer and more comfortable around each other, he doubted they'd ever be best of friends. They were just far too different for that. Deeks, too laid back, cocky and annoying for Sam's taste. He was glad he'd only been partnered with the man for one day, under Hunter's regime.

And then, of course, there was his relationship with Kensi. Sam felt a big brother instinct towards all of his team, and he couldn't get a read of Deeks' intentions towards the girl. It bugged him.

Sam shook his head, getting his thoughts back to the here-and-now. Not everything needed to revolve around Kensi and Deeks.

"Try Ops," said Callen, a touch of concern creeping into his voice.

Sam did so, the phone ringing and ringing. Just before he hung up, there was a click, silence… and then, though faded from distance, the unmistakable sound of gunfire.

"_Sam?"_ came Eric's voice, through the speaker. His voice quivered; the man was clearly terrified.

"What the hell's going on, Eric?" asked Sam, stepping out of the car.

"_We've got a bit a, uh, a bit of a situation here,"_ Eric continued. _"As the TAC Team were leaving, two dozen heavily-armed men ambushed them. They're out in the courtyard, trying to fend them off."_

Sam gave Callen a concerned look. _Concerned?_ No, that was only a tenth of the fear that coursed through his body. Callen's eyes told him that his partner felt the exact same way.

"We're on our way," said Callen, already reaching for the handle.

"_You will do no such thing, Mr. Callen,"_ said the unmistakably calm and commanding voice of Henrietta Lang. _"You are too far out to do us any good. Besides, the SEAL team should be arriving at any moment. This is little more than a distraction; I fear Carter and St James played us. But we can deal with this. You stop them from accomplishing their mission. Do you hear me?"_

Callen didn't answer right away.

"_I said, do you understand the order you have just received, Mr. Callen?"_ repeated Hetty, sternly.

Callen shook his head, then sighed. "I hear you, Hetty. But keep us informed."

Sam ended the call. He looked over at his partner, who had gone down onto his haunches, his head in his hands. He was about to say something of support towards the man, but a sound stopped him. A repetitive thrub-thrub-thrub. He paused, recognising it, and looking up. A gunmetal grey helicopter, a Boeing CH-47 Chinook troop carrier, was coming in to land.

And then, in the distance, he saw three jeeps racing their way across the hard black tarmac to meet it.

"Here we go, Callen," said Sam, already moving towards the back of his Charger, where they kept the heavy artillery.

* * *

Eric cowered underneath his desk, flinching every time a burst of gunfire sounded from outside. As such, he shook constantly like a Chihuahua. He wasn't trained for this. Not trained for this in the slightest. Give him a triple-encrypted laptop, with firewall coming out of the wazoo, and he was in his element. He was the man, the myth, the legend. But put him in any situation with a loaded weapon? Yeah, no, that wasn't him in the slightest. That's why he worked in Ops, and very rarely set foot out of it. All to avoid what… well, to avoid what was going on, on their own front door. Outside the place they all felt was safer than even their own homes. It was like a nightmare come true.

Moments after ending the call with Callen and Sam, Hetty had left Ops, heading back into the main area of the mission, ready to direct her troops into action. And she'd left Nell with very specific instructions. "Protect Eric at all costs, Miss Jones," the older woman had said. Nell had simply nodded, pulling her service weapon from the locked drawer of her desk.

_Protect Eric_. The words buzzed through his brain every time the gunfire let up long enough to allow it. Which, granted, wasn't often, but it was enough to nag at the furthest corners of Eric's mind. Okay, sure, he wasn't good at the fighting stuff, but there was other stuff he could do. It wasn't like he was a porcelain doll or anything; he could contribute.

And he couldn't do that cowering under a desk. That was… that was a childish thing to do. And while he was on the subject, just exactly what did sort of protection did he expect his hiding place to afford him? If those thugs got passed the Agents – unlikely, true, but _if_ – it was right up with their Duck and Cover. Heck, it _was_ Duck and Cover.

His mind made up, he started to unfurl his long legs from under him, creeping gently out from under the desk. A firm yet tiny hand pressed against his chest, pushing him right back in.

"Stay put," said Nell, her voice solid and authoritative.

"Nell, I can help," he countered. "Do something, anything." He paused, then his voice took on a tone of pleading. "I need to help."

"No," she replied instantly. "You're staying there, where it's safe. Hetty's orders, remember."

"Yeah, 'Protect Eric.' I can look after myself, you know?" he said, with a conviction he didn't feel.

There was no reply for a moment, and then her head appeared under the desk, her red hair hanging at a weird angle. "I'm not just protecting you for Hetty," she said, before her face disappeared from view.

Eric blinked. _Now just what did she mean by that?_

* * *

Kensi raised her weapon, butt hard against her shoulder, hurrying forward towards the next bullet riddled brick ornament. As soon as she reached it, she took up position, unloading a fresh spray of fire towards the enemy under the prying eyes of a hovering news helicopter. They'd need Eric to suppress the footage later, but right now they had bigger fish to fry. Behind her, Deeks took the advantage, hustling over to join her.

Three ornaments down, two to go, before Kensi and Deeks would be in a position to flank the attackers. But the ornaments, large brick work vases and statues, might not hold up for much longer; they weren't exactly designed to be used as cover, and the almost constant barrage from the SIG Assault rifles had churned them into small pieces. Which was why, as the pair moved forwards, Pete and the other three Agents – still by the van – unloaded suppressing fire at the black Humvees, forcing he men there to take cover of their own.

The Hummers smoked from the engines, thick bullet holes ripped into the metal. But this was what they were designed for; thick plates of armour, tested in combat around the globe. The huge vehicles would stand up a hell of a lot longer than the brick ornaments. So Deeks and Kensi had to keep moving, ever on. They couldn't afford to stay in one place for too long.

This time, it was Deeks who raced across the open space as quickly as his legs could take him. A black-clad attacker saw an opportunity, popping his head out long enough to sight up to the rushing LAPD Liaison – when a shot from the furthest end of the mission's courtyard took him in the throat, sending him flopping to the ground, dead.

Kensi glanced over her shoulder, and her mouth almost dropped open before she even realised it. At the far end, using one of the low walls as her own cover and snapping the bolt of her Remington 700PSS back into place – the exact same make of sniper rifle used by Kensi's own father – was Hetty. The rifle dwarfed the woman, but seemed so oddly natural in her grasp. So deadly. It was little wonder she was feared and respected the length and breadth of the espionage and counter intelligence community.

Deeks reached the next ornament, and Kensi hurried over to meet him.

"Remind me never to make Hetty angry," he said as soon as she arrived.

Kensi threw him a grin. "You didn't know this already?"

"Well, yeah, I guess," he replied. "It doesn't hurt to be reminded though, you know what I'm like."

"I sure do," she replied, with another smile. _Wait a minute_, she thought. _Is this what Pete meant? Middle of a life or death situation, and we're still flirting?_

They made it to the final section of cover without incident. As soon as they arrived, Kensi looked back at the Agents behind the van, giving Pete the prearranged signal. When he acknowledged it, he and the others redoubled their fire, looking to force the enemy further into cover. Kensi flicked her eyes forwards again, seeing the men retreating slightly, into a safer position.

Safer from the main force of Agents, that is. Not from Deeks and Kensi.

"Drop your weapons," shouted Kensi, coming out of cover, her partner at her side, their weapons trained on the men. The attackers reacted quickly to the new threat, but three more of them were down before they had a chance to fire back.

One was quicker, squeezing the trigger, the life-ending round hurtling towards the pair faster than it took to tell. Right for Deeks.

It would have got him too, if Kensi hadn't seen the man move, hadn't been even faster, pushing her partner against the solid wall, the bullet crashing into it a half a foot away with a finality.

Behind them, they heard Pete and the other Agents race forwards, surrounding the surviving attackers. Kensi glanced over at them. The men were clearly well trained, and knew exactly when a fight was lost, as they quickly dropped their weapons, placing their hands behind their heads and dropping to their knees in submission.

Dimly, Kensi became aware of the solid throb of Deeks heart, pressed tight against her breasts. Of the warm breath from his lips that washed against the side of her neck. She glanced back at him, eyes locking right on his sky blue.

_Big mistake._

"So, uh," he began, his voice shaking. "Does that make us even?"

Kensi's own heart still thumped wildly in her chest. Her skin sang. Not the same way it had during the firefight though, as the adrenaline had surged through her. This was different; this was the electric charge she only ever got when she was with a guy she liked, and there was the hum of potential in the air. It was like the whole world faded into nothing but her and Deeks, and she became hyper aware of the distance – or lack thereof – between them. Aware that she was pinning him to the wall, her arms locked on either side of him, preventing him from moving.

Her eyes flicked unconsciously down towards Deeks' lips, and she licked her own. _It would be so easy_, she thought, _to just lean forward and kiss him right now_.

She blinked, the thought shaking her.

_No. Not like this…_

She took a small step back, dropping her arms, pretending not to see the small shocked look in Deeks' eyes. He'd felt it too. And it wasn't like she didn't _want_ to. She did. God knows she wanted to right now. Had for a while too, if she was being honest with herself. But this was a hell of a line to cross, for their partnership, for their friendship, for whatever else they might be to each other, and she didn't want it to be a whim, didn't want it to be because they were both still alive when they very nearly hadn't been. Sure, there had been stray touches since they'd known each other; and more, escalating the last few days. _But a kiss?_ A kiss was something more. Different. Something solid, tangible. No, if anything were to ever happen, she wanted it to be because they both wanted it, and not because of any external forces.

"So, uh…" began Deeks, before trailing off. He actually looked a little shaken up, though whether it was from the firefight or what had just happened, Kensi couldn't tell. A small part of her was actually glad he seemed stumped for words for once. It meant she didn't have to answer any questions she wasn't sure of the answers to.

Kensi moved back into the middle of the courtyard, where she was joined by Hetty.

"What was this?" she asked the older woman.

"A distraction, Miss Blye," Hetty replied. "They knew we were on to them, so sent these men to hold us here. We can address how compromised the OSP is later; right now, we need to ensure that their plan did not succeed."

"How we supposed to that?" asked Deeks, joining the pair. "They're the other side of the city. I can put a call in to LAPD, get some units out there, but they're likely to be outgunned until SWAT arrives. And they'll be as late as us with the traffic at this time of day."

Hetty didn't respond at first, instead staring off into the distance. Then, she raised her head, eyes locked on the setting sun. "I might just have an idea, Detective," she said.

* * *

The jeeps sped across the tarmac, encircling the Chinook as it came in to land. As soon as the vehicles had pulled to a stop, they deposited a dozen men. Instantly noticeable amongst their number were the familiar faces of Jamie Anderson and _Françoise _St James. From one of their men came a burst of gunfire, strafing the cockpit of the Chinook. The reinforced plexiglass held under the barrage, but the pilots panicked, trying to restart the huge double rotors. Two more mooks, one on each side of the aircraft, fired from some handheld device, long ropes jetting up and catching against the rotors. They caught, tangling up in the motors, and screeching as they stuttered to a halt.

More men flooded towards the rear of the Chinook, weapons at the ready. But whatever plan they had for forcing entry, for getting to the SEALS inside, was about to be delayed.

Because that was the exact moment that Sam gunned his Charger forward. The engine revved, unleashed, darting the car across the tarmac.

"Hold on," yelled Sam, to Callen, before pushing the gas pedal down as far as it could go. A couple of the men heard the engine finally, over the sound of the Chinook's own straining motors, and looked over. It was too late, and the Charger ploughed into them like it was going for a Strike. Bodies collided with the unyielding metal frame, and came out on the losing side. It wasn't nice, and it certainly wasn't pretty. But the NCIS Agents were going to be seriously outnumbered and outgunned, and Sam had no qualms about doing what needed to be done to even those odds. Besides, these were SEALS in there; there was no lengths he wouldn't go to protect his brothers.

The Charger skidded to a halt, and Callen was already opening the door, pushing it out wide to use as cover, pumping the trigger of his Mossberg 590 Shotgun. Each blast of the opening salvo took down one of the enemy, but they recovered quickly, darting for cover of their own and returning fire with a mixture of SAR M41s and H&K G36Cs. Bullets shredded into the door of the Charger, forcing Callen to retreat further behind it.

Sam, already angered by the assault on Ops and now enraged by the attack on his brother SEALS, burst from the driver's side, ripping out rounds from his M4A1. Two more went down, but again they quickly repositioned themselves to avoid the hailstorm, and returned fire. The windshield went first, followed by the headlamps, then the tyres popped in a ferocious storm of bullets.

"How you liking this action?" called Callen from the other side of the car as he reloaded his Shotgun. "Cause you were complaining about it earlier."

"They're shooting up my car," yelled Sam, his voice actually raising several octaves. "I didn't sign up for this. I mean, I seen some nasty stuff in my time, but ain't nobody ever shot up my car before."

"Making you mad?" asked Callen.

"G, I am pissed off!"

And as he spoke, he popped from behind cover, unloading a torrent of lead towards St James and the others. He saw more go down, surprised by the fresh attack, but didn't get a full count as a sudden, blinding, heat blossomed in his shoulder, the impact sending him flying backwards.

"SAM," he heard Callen yell, even as his back crashed against the hard tarmac, white hot pain lancing through his entire body, burning brightest on his left shoulder. Blood was already beginning to pour out of the wound.

* * *

Callen saw it all happen, of course, almost as if it were in slow motion. Horrific slow motion. His partner, his best friend, knocked onto his back as the bullet ripped into his flesh. But from his position, he didn't know – couldn't know – exactly where Sam had been hit, whether he was still alive, or if he'd died instantly. And if there was anything in this world he didn't want more, it was for it to go on turning without Sam Hanna in it.

Ignoring the enemy, he threw himself back into the damaged Charger, crawling over broken shards of glass, across the bucket seats, before he dropped to the ground next to Sam. Blood was already pooling around the hole in his shoulder, but thankfully it didn't appear to have hit anything vital. And more importantly than that, Sam was still alive. _Thank God. _Alive, but in a great deal of pain.

Callen needed to get him back into the car, needed to gun the engine, and get the pair of them the hell out of there. Regroup, buy themselves some time to try and reattempt a rescue mission for the SEALS' sake. But even as he thought it, he knew he would never be able to move the injured and semi conscious Sam back into the car. Callen knew he was in shape, but his partner was just too bulky for him to manoeuvre unassisted.

That didn't mean he wasn't going to try. He dropped his Shotgun, the metal clattering on the cold tarmac, and grabbed Sam by the good shoulder, trying to drag him back towards the black car. But then, the familiar cock of a weapon caught his attention.

Callen looked up, into the unforgiving eyes of _Françoise _St James, standing over him. M1191 Colt pointed right at Callen's head.

"You put up a good effort, Mr. NCIS man," said the mercenary. "Sadly, it was in vein. You were just outmatched. Remember, there's always someone better than you. But remember it quickly, because you won't be able to put it to much use very shortly."

St James grinned again, cocky, confident. But Callen refused to close his eyes. He stared down the barrel of the pistol, waiting for death to come.

And come it did. But not for G. Callen. Instead, with the boom of a higher calibre weapon, _Françoise _St James went down, blood spurting from the side of his head. Callen blinked, surprised, as two more of the attackers went down, followed by more, Jamie Anderson amongst them. And then, he became aware of another sound, a dull trubbing sound. He looked up.

The news copter hovered not far away from them. Visible behind the stick was the unmistakable form of Hetty Lange. And through the open door, both carrying Remington sniper rifles and picking off badguys with ease, were Kensi and Deeks.

The cavalry had arrived.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N** – So here we are; the final chapter. I hope you've enjoyed the ride as much as I have writing it. Just FYI, I didn't really plan on suddenly bumping this story up to an M rating, just left the option there if I wanted too, but pretty much as I was wrapping up Kensi and Deeks, they took over (as they have through most of the story. They literally have a life of their own) and ended up doing what they wanted anyway. Not that I was going to complain too much, you understand. You can skip that bit if you so wish. You should be able to figure out where to stop.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own any of these characters. Still. Dammit.

* * *

Owen Granger strode into Ops, the door silently sliding closed behind him. The gang was all there; Eric Beale and Nell Jones, turning to face him from their desks, their monitors still buzzing with information. Agent Blye and Detective Deeks, leaning against the centre console, their visible skin littered with a myriad of small cuts and abrasions. Hetty Lange, affixing him with an all-knowing look that had given him chills and nightmares for many years of his career. Sam Hanna, arm in a sling following his recent injury and not looking even one iota less intimidating because of it. Granger was silently surprised that the ex-SEAL was out of hospital already, but then he sincerely doubted anyone could hold the man where he didn't want to be. And Callen, leaning back against a desk, emotionless as always.

"Where do we stand, Agent Callen?" Granger said to the man.

Callen continued to glare at Granger for a moment longer, before pushing himself upright. "Francois St James was killed, along with the majority of his organisation. Without their figurehead, it's unlikely they'll pose much further threat, though we are keeping an eye on those that are still at large."

"And the SEAL team?"

"Fine," Sam replied instead. "Given another couple of minutes, they'd have been out of the Huey, spoiling for a fight."

"They sound like they're upset they missed it."

Sam nodded. "Especially when they heard why they'd been targeted. SEALS don't take that sort of thing lying down."

"Good." Granger then turned to the two computer whizzes. "What about the OSP? Are we compromised?"

"No," replied Eric without even missing a beat. "There was likely to be some news footage, but Hetty managed to wrangle a deal with the chopper crew before it went out live. And a small virus I uploaded to the servers should make sure it never sees the light of day."

"I've done some deep searches," said Nell, taking up the debrief. "As far as I can tell, there's no mention of us out there."

"How sure are you?"

"Pretty sure," replied the redhead. Granger knew to take her at her word; with an IQ like hers, 'pretty sure' was other people's 100% sure. He turned to their liaison. "Detective?"

"I've put out word to some of my contacts in LAPD. They've leaned on their informants. It looks like St James' group kept it all to themselves. We don't have anything to worry about."

"And those of his group that survived," added Kensi, "didn't know what this place was. They'd been told they were attacking a rival gang. They still don't know, but they're going to be spending too much time in GitMo to worry us anyway. Raymond Carter included."

Granger nodded. It seemed their base of operations remained secure, but only time would truly tell.

"And Agent Dorsett?" he asked, after a moment.

"No sign," said Callen. "At this time, we assume that he was tortured for information and then killed. But we're not going to stop looking."

He didn't respond. Long seconds passed. Finally, Hetty spoke up. "Is everything alright, Owen?"

Granger shook his head, focussing on the present again. "Yes. It's just… I've known him for a long time."

"We are still looking," repeated Hetty.

"Thank you," said Granger. "All, for everything. You've done great work today, taking down one of the biggest arms dealers in the world, and preventing a major threat to this nation's armed forces. You should all feel very proud of yourselves."

He nodded then, turning on his heel and exiting.

* * *

After raiding the fridge for the last beer – she should have picked some up on the way home, but she had other things on her mind at the time – Kensi flopped down on her coach and flipped on the TV. Infomercial, news, infomercial, infomercial, documentary. So many channels, and not one reality TV show on? How was that even humanly possible? She cracked the beer open on the side of her table, before plopping her bare feet up on it, wiggling her toes. It was good to have them out of her shoes.

The expected knock on her door came later than she had imagined/hoped. Kensi forced her heart to stop fluttering before she finally pushed herself up, padding her way silently towards the door. She flicked the curtain aside; it was Deeks.

She cracked the door, taking him in. Dishevelled hair, as always. Scruffy beard, as always. Grin and sparkling blue eyes, as always. Hands, clutching… wait.

"Where's my beer?" she asked, actually pouting.

He grinned back. "Well, it sounded like it was urgent, when you asked me to come over. So I rushed right here after I'd fed and walked Monty."

"You know the deal, Deeks; no beer, no entry."

"Entry to what?" he grinned.

"Deeks."

"Oh, come on," he whined, a half smile on his lips. "Can't you make an exception? Just this once?"

"Nope," she replied, trying to maintain her composure. Just seeing him again, even after just an hour, was putting her off balance. It didn't help that they'd both stepped forwards, and were now less than a foot away from each other. She could feel the tickle of his breath on her face. "You can go now," she said, voice quivering.

Deeks' face fell. "Oh," he said. "Oh, okay, I just… sure, sure. No worries. I'll see you tomorrow?" He tossed her a wan smile, turning around before she could even reply, and striding back towards the street.

"Deeks," she called out after him, shocked at his sudden change in demeanour, his rapid exit from the front of her house. She started to move towards him – when something cold and solid banged against her bare foot. Several something, jangling together on impact. She glanced down at the case of beer he'd left on the floor, just out of sight of her door.

She looked back up. Deeks was watching her, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips. Kensi scooped the beer up, heading back into the house, but leaving the door open wide. A few seconds later, Deeks wandered in behind her, and almost immediately started roaming nonchalantly around her living room, picking up random sheaves of mail, the book she was half reading.

"Sit down," Kensi said, voice forceful, gesturing towards her coach. As he sat, she stored the beers in the fridge. She closed the fridge door, and a sudden thought struck her. She rubbed her fingers between the centre of her eyes, trying to massage the thought away, but it was there now. And she knew what she had to do.

Deeks looked over as Kensi made her back into the living room, dropping herself almost bonelessly onto the coach opposite him. Quite opposite him, in fact, Deeks realised. Like, the other side of the coach, with a good deal of distance between the partners, knees drawn up before her and arms wrapped around her legs. Her smile was gone, replaced with a solid resolve. And, unless he missed his guess – which he didn't; nobody could read Kensi's moods like he could – a faint touch of sadness.

"So, uh," he began, trying to sound more comfortable that he did. It was a lie of course; his whole body felt like it was burning, and shivering; goosebumps pebbled his bare arms, the hairs there standing at attention. His heart raced in his chest, threatening to explode from his ribcage without a second's notice. He schooled his hands from shaking long enough to take the now-opened beer from Kensi. The cold glass was refreshing, given how his skin felt like it was dipped in molten lava. "Is it later now?" he finished.

"Deeks," she said.

"It's just, you know, when you said 'Stop by later'…"

Kensi interjected herself over the top of him; "Can we not do this?"

"Do what?" he replied, sensing the change in the air. Was it just his imagination, or was he having flashbacks of when they were first made partners, all those years ago?

"There's nobody around, Deeks," she said. "You don't need to try and make me uncomfortable, to embarrass me."

Deeks face was blank, to match his mind. "I don't…" he began.

"You know, the game we've been playing over the last couple of days, trying to one up one another? There's nobody here, you don't need to do that. You don't need to flirt with me to pass the time either."

"To pass the…?" He couldn't believe he was hearing this. Not now, not after everything they'd… No, no, it wasn't going to go this way. Yes, he knew his partner, and he knew when she was running from something. And this? This was far too big, far too important – to him, to her, to them – for him to allow her to do that. And how did Kensi run from things? She changed the subject, or came at it from a different angle. Well, to hell with that. There was only one way they were doing this, and that was in a straight line. His eyes locked with her. "Kensi, do you like me?"

She blinked first, mouth open. Finally, she swallowed. "You're my partner, of course I like you."

"That's not what I mean, Kens, and you know it."

Silence. Another Kensi Blye special. And another thing he knew how to get around.

"I'm not going anywhere 'til I get an answer, even if I have to camp out on your coach from now until the end of time," he said. "Question stands."

"Well, what about you?" she shot back, voice and emotions rising.

"Don't deflect the subject, Kens. I know all your tricks."

"Oh, so we can't talk about your feelings, but you want me to talk about mine?!"

"So you do have feelings?"

Kensi slammed her mouth shut, biting off whatever instant response was going to come. "I did not say that," she said, eventually, a little meekly. Then followed it with, "No. Yes. Maybe. Ugh, I don't know, alright? I just don't know. I didn't know the other night when I was dreaming about you, I didn't know yesterday; I didn't know today when I was thinking about kissing you but didn't. I didn't know when we were playing our little game the passed two days. When we were doing whatever it was we were doing… I don't know. I don't even know if it was just a game or… I don't know what happens if one of us loses. What happens then?"

"You were going to kiss me?" was all Deeks could manage at that moment.

Kensi closed her eyes, shaking her head to swallow the laugh. "Right, cause that was the important part."

"Kens, I…" he started, but the words seemed to die in his mouth. He swallowed, trying to bring some moisture back to his lips. Then, like a bursting dam, he gabbled; "You're not just my partner, Kensi. You're more than just my best friend. You're my favourite person in the whole world. There's a reason I call you Sunshine; cause that's what you are to me. You're my shining light. You're the reason I wake up in the morning, the reason I can do my job. You're the thing that keeps me tethered here, and if that's too much for you – "

Nothing else came out, and he turned away, breaking contact with those eyes that threatened to sweep him away. Rubbing his own forehead, Deeks rose, almost staggering towards the door. His head swam; he felt drunk, but he hadn't even touched his beer. He couldn't do this. Not right now. God, how stupid was he? He'd totally misread their whole relationship. _Guess I don't know my partner was well as I thought I did._ She'd viewed it as a game, just something to while away the long hours of their jobs, and was running because he was…

Deeks paused, one hand on the door handle, when her own hand rested on his shoulder.

Gingerly, she reached out, taking the bottom of his jaw in tender fingers and turned him back to face her. She smiled, sadly. Deeks recognised the look instantly and his stomach plummeted. _Here we go_, he thought. _Time for everything to get ruined._

"I've lost so many people in my life," she said, voice trembling and barely above a whisper. "First my father, then Jack. And each time, it's broken me. But if I lost you – if I lost you, I know that it would kill me."

He thought about protesting, about telling her that he would never, ever, leave her. But he couldn't do that to her, couldn't make promises that were outside his power to keep. There was no way of telling what would happen tomorrow, or next week, or fifty years down the line.

"So you're just not going to try?" he asked instead, voice cracking.

Kensi's heart broke. A thousand words flashed across her mind, a million things that she could say to him, to take away the hurt that ached across those sad eye. A million things, and she rejected them all. Instead, she leant forward, pressing her lips forcefully against his, wrapping her arms around the back of his head to draw him closer. He blinked, almost pulling back in surprise, until he returned the pressure, hard, strong, and meaningful. His hands found her waist, and suddenly he'd pushed her back against the wall. There was such fire, such need, in the touch of his lips.

_Oh God_, she thought. They'd kissed before; a few times in real life, mainly cover kisses and simple brushing of lips; and a dozen times in her dreams besides. But all of them paled in comparison to this, to the touch of his lips on her, to the gently rub of his stubble against her skin. This was real.

Electricity coursed through her body, so strong, so powerful that she thought for sure her hair must have been standing on end. But still she wanted more. Her mouth opened, inviting him inside, and he took the opportunity, their tongues meeting and encircling each other. Breath was ignored, forgotten. Neither of them needed it, all they needed to survive right now was the warm press of the other's flesh against their own.

A moan escaped her mouth, through the locked lips, followed swiftly by his name; "Marty."

She raised a leg, wrapping the heel and calf around the back of his thighs and pulling him closer, until his weight pressed her against the wall with even more force. Where their hips connected, warmth was spreading, like a raging forest fire that she had no intention of putting out. Her hips began to move, swaying slowly back and forth, side to side. Grinding against the hardening she felt on him.

Her breath grew more laboured now, as his hands began to skim softly up and down her ribcage, sending fresh waves of sensation racing across her frame, and more moans slipping out passed his kiss.

Somewhere, she became aware that he was saying something around the kiss too, but the pounding of her heart, thick in her ears, was drowning it out. She broke contact, burying her head against the crook of his neck and continuing her kisses there, and she realised what he was saying. _Me. My name!_

Against all possible logic, given what they were doing, that one simple word repeated brought fresh heat, this time to her cheeks and the tips of her ears. Swiftly, frantically, she dropped her arms from around his neck and grabbed onto the bottom of his Tee, tugging it upwards. He pulled back a moment, stopping those wonderful hands from tracing the curve of her hips for what seemed far, far, too long and raised them above his head, letting her pull the T-shirt fully off his frame. She dumped it, unceremoniously, on the floor besides them.

She pushed him back roughly with one hand, breaking contact fully, grinning wildly while she admired him. She'd seen him topless before, of course. So many times, undercover and some otherwise. But there was just something about now, about this situation that… _Good_ _God_. His form was so lithe, so compact. A swimmer's body, a surfer's. Not too bulky, but just right. Broad, strong, shoulders. Six pack, cute little hip dents. Every little curve of his torso, every bunching of muscles, only fed the rampant fire that seemed to threaten to combust her at any second.

He smiled wryly at her, wiggling his eyebrows. "You see something you like?" he asked, playfully. Kensi bit her bottom lip briefly, before arched an eyebrow of her own in return. She continued to trail her eyes up and down his torso for a second, as if considering.

"Hmmm. I've seen better," she replied, trying to keep the grin off her face.

His mouth opened adorably in shock, before he snorted. "Yeah, like you've got anything better under that shirt."

"Why don't you come and find out?" she challenged.

With a throaty growl, he stepped forward, grabbing her arms and pinning them out wide to the wall behind her. Their mouths met again, passion and desire still there. She squirmed, rubbing her groin against his once more. Then, finally, his hands released her wrists, and he began to work at the buttons of her shirt. A moment later, he pulled back from the kiss, turning his attention down, his jittering fingers and thumbs struggling against the top button.

"Really?" he said to the reluctant button. "What did you use on these things, superglue? Am I being Punk'd?"

Kensi threw her head back and laughed; a rich, joyous laugh. A laugh that turned quickly into outraged giggles when he grabbed her shirt by the collars and roughly ripped it apart, revealing the black lace bra beneath.

"Hey," she teased. "That was my shirt."

"I'll buy you a new one," he said, as he slipped the sleeves off her arms and dropped the shirt down next to his own. "Not that you'll be needed it for a while."

She _hmm'd_ in anticipation. Now, he stepped back, cocking his head to the side, eyes trailing across the curve of her hips, her stomach, up to her cleavage and then finally back to her eyes.

Deeks pulled a face. "It's alright, I guess."

"You guess!?" she said, shocked, outraged, but still amused.

"But I think I know what the problem is." Without another word, he reached out one hand, and it disappeared behind her back, where he did… something? _Really? One handed?_ And suddenly she felt the support of her bra loosen. It dropped free, revealing her bare breasts, her already erect nipples. She flushed again.

"Okay," he finally breathed, jaw hanging slack, eyes drinking in her slender frame and soft curves. "Wow, okay indeed. That is – you know, I reckon we might be about equal now."

"Shut up and kiss me," she said with a shake of her head, and a smile on her lips.

And he did, pinning her back against the wall, then nuzzled kisses against the soft curve of her neck, trailing them up and down to her collarbone, electing fresh sighs from her lips. Nipping the flesh where her pulse raced, setting it fluttering even more, before soothing it with more kisses. One hand following the shape of her breast, squeezing it, caressing it. Circling the nipple with his fingers and causing flashes of lighting to arch across her spine. Her own hand dropped, reaching in between them for the stiffness between his legs. She stroked urgently up and down, feeling it twitching and straining against the confines of his jeans. A shiver echoed across his entire frame, and she felt the breath catch in his lungs.

She smiled, pleased at the effect she was having on him. It wasn't the first time she'd been in this position, but there was just something about this, something magical. Something that she knew she would never be able to put into words.

Her hand slipped up, trailing across his abdomen, feeling the muscles there bunch under her touch, before dropping down again gently and grabbing a hold of his belt. As she began to tug against it, his own hand dropped, grabbing hers and pulling it away.

"Not yet," he breathed around the kisses that didn't seem to have stopped, and certainly hadn't decreased in the slightest. If anything, it seemed to Kensi that it had only increased in urgency. Now it was his hand that reached out, pulling at the leather strap of her belt and loosening it. There was a pop as the button on her jeans came free, followed by the metallic rasp of the zipper. Using both hands, he spread the jeans apart, over her hips. She wiggled her ass, swaying her legs back and forth, until the material had slipped all the way down to a tangled mess around her ankles. Gingerly, so as not to over balance, she stepped out of one leg, before kicking the other leg up and sending the jeans flying across the living room, where they collided with a lamp.

They both looked over at the smash, seeing the shards of lamp shattered on the floor. Deeks turned amused eyes back to look at her, and she shrugged. _I never liked that lamp anyway,_ she thought, grabbing him by the unruly hair atop his head and pulling him back to her lips.

All that remained on her now were a thin pair of black panties. Kensi blushed again at the thought. But not as much as when his hand slipped in the front, passed the fine clump of hair, and began gently stroking. If her breath had been ragged before, it was almost impossible to breathe now. It came in clutches; short, sharp bursts, a fresh shiver of pleasure burning across her flesh with each one. Softly, he slipped one finger inside, and upon feeling that she was already more than wet already down there, following it with another. They curled backwards, rubbing inside her, slick with her pleasure. The walls of her muscles tightened against his firm, thick, fingers. Her knees weakened, threatening to buckle, and it was only his weight against her that kept her upright. She groaned, again and again, curving her hips forward and trying to get as close to those fingers as possible.

He lowered his head, cupping her breast with his free hand and peppering small kisses across the soft skin. Gently, almost lazily, he began to trace his tongue across the mound, leaving a trail of saliva and sensation in his wake. The circles became smaller, closing in on the nipple, until his tongue flicked back and forth across the hardness, sending more jolts racing across her, smashing against the rising ecstasy his fingers were causing in her groin.

"More," she heard herself moan. "Harder. I…"

He opened his mouth, resting his teeth on the nipple and applying just enough pressure to… "God!" she cried, arching her back uncontrollably. Her hand found the strands of his hair, tightening into a fist and pulling.

He paused, unsure of her intentions.

"No," she whined. "Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."

He took her words as a command, and returned his mouth and fingers to their wondrous tasks, not minding that she was practically tearing his hair from his head in her mounting pleasure.

An eternity passed, an eternity where she felt she might explode at any second from the heat that rose through every sinew of her body, that tightened every muscle almost to breaking point. An eternity she only counted by the soft licking and nibbling at her nipple, and the stroking motion of his fingers deep inside her. She couldn't breathe, air trapping itself in her lungs and never reaching the wide smile of her mouth. She was so close to the edge, so very, very close. But she couldn't go over, not right now, not without him by her side.

"Deeks," she managed, somehow. "Wait, wait, do you - ?"

"One step ahead of you, Princess" he panted from around her swollen breast. He stepped back, visibly trembling, digging into his pocket and tugging free his wallet. He pulled the small square package free, and tossed the wallet over his shoulder with a cheesy grin. As he slipped loose his belt – taking care to place his Beretta on the nearby windowsill –, kicking his sneakers off and sliding his jeans down, she busied herself removing her sodden panties. She glanced down, saw the twitching mass beneath his tight black boxers, and smiled coyly again.

_You don't get to have all the fun_, she thought to herself, grabbing for the foil square and plucking it from his grasp before he could react. With one hand, she lifted it to her mouth, tearing it open with her teeth, while the other eased his manhood from the boxers. It twitched a greeting at her, slick already at the tip from his rising excitement. She stroked it gently, feeling it quiver with anticipation beneath her touch. Their eyes locked again, and Kensi saw that the pure animal heat had faded a little, replaced by wonder. Without breaking contact, she slipped the condom on him, then eased herself forward. Gingerly, she shifted onto him, allowing him entry. Her leg came up again, wrapping once more around the back of his thighs and pulling him towards her. Her mouth opened, a soft cry ripping itself from her lips as he buried himself inside her, and he swallowed it with a kiss.

With her shoulders to the wall, and hips arched towards him, she rested one hand on his shoulder for support, while allowing the other to lounge above her head. Some small part of her would have smiled had she realised she was presenting her armpit to him. But that thought never even crossed her mind.

Their eyes didn't waver as he drove himself gently all the way into her, all the way to the hilt, before pulling back and driving home again. Her jaw locked tight, unable to move, unable to communicate the pure pleasure that flowed across her body in wave after wave. Slowly at first, but soon his measure quickened and the moans and sighs that came from his lips matched her own. Sweat laced both their bodies, intermingling until neither could tell whose was whose. And soon, that went for their bodies too.

The sensation rose within the part of the mass that still identified itself as Kensi Blye, swiftly building, more and more than it had before. She couldn't believe there was more to come, but each passing stroke only served to prove her wrong. And still, their eyes remained entwined. He must have seen something in hers, then, because one hand dropped from supporting her hips and sought out her nub above his pounding cock. He began to circle his thumb on it, round and round and round and round, fast and firm, bringing her ever closer to orgasm. Finally, her body could stand no more, and she allowed herself to release with a cry of his name. "Marty." Stars and bright lights danced in her vision. From the look on his face, the odd twisting of his features, and the way his weight slumped against her, she knew that her explosion had triggered his too. The look, she thought, was oddly hot as hell.

They sank together into a heap on her floor, a mingling of limbs, panting as one, both shattered and spent. Kensi's whole body sang with vibrations, twitching involuntarily as he traipsed an idle hand over her naked frame.

"See," he purred after a moment. "I told you my body does wonders."

She hit him.

"Ow," he laughed. "Really? Right now, you're gonna do that right now?"

She shook her head, sighing contentedly, before wrapping her arms around his neck and dragging him close, nuzzling against the crook of his neck. She draped her leg up, over his hips. Her eyelids flickered closed. They lay there like that a moment longer, too sated to even move, before she arched her neck over, gazing towards the rest of her apartment. "I can't believe we didn't even make it to the bedroom," she said.

"Yeah, like I could have waited the ten minutes while you cleared the junk off your bed," came his reply.

"God, Deeks," she said. "Does your mouth never stop moving?"

"Only when it's got something better to do," he replied, with an impish smile.

She grinned back, and their lips met once more. The kiss was different this time, softer. The raw hunger was gone – for now at least, she admitted happily; it would return – replaced with passion, and affection, and another word that flickered warmly at the back of her mind, letting her know it was ready when she was.

They were together twice more that night, laughing and playing, and exploring every inch of the other's body with hands and mouths – and, needless to say, it was certainly "Later" during those events, and it was _good_ – but still not getting any closer to the bedroom than her sofa. Tomorrow, of course, would be different. Tomorrow, they'd be back to work. And what that held for them, for their partnership – their 'thing' – well… well, they'd figure that out.

They always did.

THE END?


End file.
